


Hypnopompia

by aliceinwonderbra



Series: Vengeance 'Verse [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BtVS Season 4, Coma, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Slayer Dreams, Slow Burn, background Willow/Tara - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:00:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 116,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27091678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliceinwonderbra/pseuds/aliceinwonderbra
Summary: After a brief trip to an alternate dimension, courtesy of D'Hoffryn, Buffy's back home. She wants to make amends with Faith, but there's just the little problem of her coma getting in the way. Set in a modified Season 4.
Relationships: Faith Lehane/Buffy Summers
Series: Vengeance 'Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083473
Comments: 722
Kudos: 389





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to my story, Vengeance, in which Buffy went into the wish-verse and met the current slayer, Faith. You don't have to read that one to understand this one, just know there were smoochies. :D

Chapter One

Willow sits cross-legged on Buffy’s bed, fiddling with the little vial in her hands. Her eyes are wide, a small wrinkle of worry between her eyebrows. Buffy sits down across from her, both of them in pajamas and clean faced. On the floor of Buffy’s bedroom, they’ve made up a bed for Willow. “Thanks for doing this with me,” Buffy says.

“Anything I can do,” Willow begins, sounding distraught.

“Will,” Buffy cuts in, a little impatiently, “if you tell me one more time that you’re sorry, I’m going to kick you out and do this by myself.”

Willow immediately closes her mouth. She seems to be settling for telling Buffy she’s sorry with her eyes.

Buffy gives her a severe look, but reaches across the bed and takes her hand, squeezing it. “I told you,” she says. “I’m fine. It’s okay.”

“I know,” Willow agrees. The wrinkle between her eyes does not go away.

“Does Anya think D’Hoffryn will be back?”

Willow shrugs. “She said she doesn’t think so. There’s plenty of angry women in the sea, I guess. She figures he’ll move on to someone else.”

“That’s good,” Buffy says. “Are _you_ doing okay?”

Surprised, Willow starts to nod, then she switches motions to shaking her head. “No,” she says, “but I’m getting there. I saw a flyer for a Wicca group on campus. I’m gonna check it out. Try to take my mind off Oz, maybe find someone to practice with.” She looks at Buffy apologetically. “Safely!” She adds. “Small stuff. Very small stuff.”

Smiling at her, Buffy says, “I think that’s a good idea, and, Will, you’re a great witch. You know that. You’re grieving. The stuff with D’Hoffryn could have happened to anyone.” She winces as she says it, knowing how it sounds.

Willow gives her a pointed look. “It didn’t happen to you.”

“No,” Buffy agrees. “I just ran away for a few months and got sucked into a Hell dimension.”

“So kind of like now?” Willow ventures, cracking a tiny smile.

Buffy laughs. “I know it was technically all vengeance-y, but it wasn’t all bad.” Some of it was pretty good, in fact. Mostly the parts where she and Faith were naked. Especially the part where Faith took her hand and put it between her legs.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Willow asks, breaking Buffy’s little trip down memory lane. “I know you were in the place with the scary, leather-loving-vampire me, and about Faith being the slayer, but… what was it really like?”

Buffy considers her question. “Different,” she says, after a moment. “Faith had her Watcher, plus Giles, and,” she looks at Willow, a little stricken, “you can’t tell Giles this part.”

Eyes widening, Willow shakes her head. “I won’t tell,” she agrees.

“Ms. Calendar was there,” Buffy says, swallowing hard. “Angel’s dead. She owns a magic shop, and she helps them with slaying. She and Giles were together. He was happy, I think.”

Willow’s face is stricken.

“I know,” Buffy agrees, seeing her look.

“But Xander and me, we were…”

Buffy nods. “Larry Blaisdell was there though,” she says, “and Amy.” She debates for a moment about whether to mention Oz, ultimately deciding against it.

“Wow,” Willow says, processing.

“I know,” Buffy says again. “Weird, right?”

“Really weird,” Willow agrees. “I guess it’s kind of nice, in a really weird way though, right? We’re not there, but other people are, and they’re still fighting, still trying to help people.”

Buffy nods. She’s had the same thought. Maybe every different version of Sunnydale has someone there, trying to keep the Hellmouth closed.

“What was Faith like?”

Looking at her pajama clad knees, Buffy tries to decide how much to say. “She was… the same, I guess, in some ways. Different in others.” She looks back up. “She was good. Strong.”

Willow doesn’t say anything, just waits for her to go on.

Buffy drops her eyes again. “Something happened there,” she says, her voice hesitant.

“Something bad?”

Buffy shakes her head.

“Something good?” Willow prods, unsure where this is going.

“I think so,” Buffy says. She bites the inside of her cheek, trying to gather the courage to tell Willow about what happened between her and Faith. It’s not like she thinks Willow’s homophobic. She’s the sweetest person in the world, and Buffy knows she’ll accept her no matter what, but this is _Faith_. Not their Faith, but still _a_ Faith.

“Something…” Willow prods again, waiting for her to continue, “with Faith…?”

Buffy nods.

“Okay,” Willow says gamely, trying to puzzle this out. “Something with Faith… something good…” She looks at Buffy, clearly not putting it all together.

“I slept with her,” Buffy blurts out. “More than once.”

Of all the things Willow might have been thinking, this seems to have been very far from the top of the list. Her eyes go wide, her mouth dropping open in a little ‘O.’

She doesn’t say anything, so Buffy continues talking, a little nervously. “We were working together, and you know how Faith always was with the sex jokes, and, I don’t know, there was a connection there.”

Willow nods, eyes still gigantic.

“Say something,” Buffy says.

Willow opens her mouth, but it takes a moment for any sound to come out. “Uh,” she says, “that’s… not what I thought you were going to say.”

“I know.”

Willow considers for a moment. Her cheeks a little red, she asks, “How was it?”

Surprised, Buffy laughs. “Willow!”

“What?” Willow asks defensively. “You just told me you slept with Faith. Faith the vampire slayer. The girl vampire slayer. I have questions!”

Buffy laughs again. “It was amazing,” she says, honestly, her face going a little pink.

Willow grins, obviously waiting to hear more.

“What do you want me to say?” Buffy asks, covering her face with her hands.

Grabbing her hands, Willow pulls them down from her face. “Don’t hide!” She chides. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Buffy doesn’t _not_ want to. She and Willow talk about pretty much everything. “It was different,” she says, “but just, really good. I don’t know if it’s always like that, with girls, or if it was just Faith.” She wrinkles her forehead in confusion. “Or a slayer thing.”

“So,” Willow says, “is that why you want to talk to Faith now?” She glances down at the small bottle still in her lap.

“Not exactly,” Buffy says. She looks down, the laughter of a moment ago gone. “I guess seeing her there, what she could have been like if she had the watcher, and the friends, and never met me,” she adds ruefully, “it made me think.”

“I can see that,” Willow says.

“She helped me, you know?” Buffy asks. “With the Mayor. I saw her when I was in the hospital, and she told me how to get to him.”

Willow watches her thoughtfully. “You said Faith told you how to beat him, but I didn’t know exactly what that meant. What will you say to her? If it works?”

That’s the million dollar question, and she hasn’t quite figured it out yet. “I guess I’ll know when I see her.”

“Well,” Willow says optimistically, “at least you guys can’t kill each other in the dreamspace.” When Buffy winces, she hastens to add, “Oh, Buffy, that’s not what I meant!”

“I know,” Buffy assures her. “It’s okay.” She looks away, her gaze moving around the room, still decorated the same as when she was living here full time. Mr. Gordo is back in his rightful place on the bed. “I thought it would be quieter here,” she says, “and I guess I feel closer to her here.”

Willow nods, still not totally understanding.

“So,” Buffy says, with forced cheerfulness, bringing her eyes back to Willow, “I just drink this and then boom, I’m in Faith’s head?”

“Uhh,” Willow says, lifting the small bottle in her hand and swirling the murky contents around, “it’s not _exactly_ like that. You guys are already connected, so this is supposed to help you control where you go in the dreamspace. Theoretically.”

“A glowing endorsement,” Buffy says dryly. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Willow nods and hands her the bottle. Uncorking it, Buffy holds it up in the _cheers_ motion, then she raises it to her lips and drinks the entire thing, even though it takes like mud. She grimaces as she replaces the cork. “Blech.”

Willow wrinkles her nose in sympathy. “Somehow the people writing the spells never think about the flavor.”

Nodding in agreement, Buffy puts the empty bottle on her bedside table. “What now?” She asks.

“Now, you go to sleep.” Willow climbs off the bed, leaving space for Buffy to get under the covers. She settles herself on the floor.

“And you’ll wake me up if it seems like it’s going bad?” Buffy asks uncertainly, as she fluffs her pillow up behind her head.

“Yep,” Willow says. “I promise.”

Buffy reaches for the small table lamp and turns it off, enveloping the room in darkness. “I don’t think it’s going to,” she adds, a little nervously. “Just want to be prepared.”

“I know,” Willow assures her from the floor. “I’ll be here.”

XXXXX

Her bedroom looks the same as ever, only the bed is bare and the sun is shining brightly through the window. Buffy stands by the door in her pajamas, the floorboards warm under her bare feet. She blinks, looking at the floor and expecting to find Willow curled up in her sleeping bag. The floor is bare, but the room doesn’t stay empty for long. Faith walks in, carrying neatly folded sheets in her arms. Wordlessly, she sets them down, plucking the fitted sheet off the pile and shaking it out. She holds one corner out, looking at Buffy expectantly. Before Buffy can reach for it, someone else does. It’s another Buffy, and she steps right through Buffy, taking the sheet and helping Faith start to make the bed.

Unsure what to do, Buffy watches as the two of them make the bed companionably. Maybe this is a good dream. A good sign. They’re making a bed together—that’s nice. Domestic even.

From her side of the bed, dream Buffy says, “They smell good, don't they?”

“What?” Faith asks, seeming a little confused.

“Clean sheets,” dream Buffy says. “Like summer.”

Faith thinks for a second. “I wouldn't know.”

“Right,” dream Buffy says ruefully. “I forgot.”

“I didn’t forget, exactly,” real Buffy says, wincing.

Neither of them seems to hear her. She watches as they keep talking, finally meeting at the end of the bed. The potion Giles and Willow cooked up for her was supposed to make it so she could talk to Faith, but so far that doesn’t seem to be working. She’s contemplating throwing herself onto the freshly made bed, just to see if that’ll do anything at all, when the glint of metal appears between them.

“Are you ever gonna take this thing out?” Faith asks, and Buffy watches in horror as the dream version of herself grasps the hilt of Faith’s knife. She twists it viciously in Faith’s abdomen.

“No!” Buffy shouts, stepping forward as Faith cries out in pain.

Faith looks startled, wild eyes darting her way, and for a second Buffy swears their eyes meet. Then her bedroom is gone, and she’s standing in a park, cloudy skies overhead.

Buffy stands there for a moment, her chest too tight, her stomach roiling. She hadn’t given much thought to the state of Faith’s mind before jumping in. She thought it would be like the last time, the two of them talking, some of it wound up in riddles, but mostly clear. She didn’t expect to step into dreams that Faith was already having. Or to see herself stabbing Faith again. That gasp of pain… it was just like the real thing. Buffy will never forget that sound as long as she lives.

She tries to convince herself that maybe that was just Faith’s mind’s reaction to Buffy’s sudden appearance. It’s gotta be weird, someone forcing their way into your coma brain. _Especially the person who put you in the coma,_ she thinks with a grimace.

The park looks perfectly calm. It’s empty except for two people lying on a blanket past some trees up ahead. Buffy glances around once more, then starts in their direction, reasoning that one of them has to be Faith. As she walks closer to them, she sees that it _is_ Faith. She doesn’t look quite like herself, wearing a long skirt and no shoes. Buffy doesn’t immediately recognize the man with her, until she walks close enough to hear his voice.

“You see?” The Mayor asks, in his usual happy go lucky cadence. “Nothing’s gonna spoil our time together.”

Faith smiles widely at him.

“Who wants cheese cake?” The mayor asks, grinning.

Faith laughs at his enthusiasm as Buffy steps just a little closer, coming up behind the Mayor. She seems about to respond, but then her eyes settle on Buffy. The smile falls off her face.

“Faith?” Buffy asks cautiously.

Around her, the entire park goes still. The faint breeze that was just a moment ago rustling against her pajama bottoms is completely gone. Buffy looks up. The clouds are no longer moving in the sky. It’s dead silent.

“Oops,” Buffy says, mostly to herself, incredibly unnerved. She looks back down to find the Mayor frozen mid-reach into the picnic basket. Faith is sitting up, her face alarmed. “It’s okay,” Buffy says quickly, keeping her voice soft. “You can see me?”

Faith blinks. “What are you wearing?”

Looking down at her pajamas, Buffy frowns. At least they’re moderately respectable, just white cotton pajamas with little bows on them. She didn’t put on the sushi pjs tonight. “I didn’t realize I’d show up in my exact outfit,” she says defensively.

“Show up?” Faith repeats, seeming confused.

Before Buffy can explain, the wind begins to rustle through the trees again. She looks up, and sure enough, the clouds resume moving. When she looks back at Faith, she sees her eyes widening in fear. Buffy looks over her shoulder to see herself again. Dream Buffy stalks toward them with Faith’s knife gripped firmly in her hand.

Real Buffy moves back, already squaring up her fists.

Moving unnaturally fast, dream Buffy arrives in front of the Mayor just as he unfreezes and resumes reaching for the cheesecake.

“No!” Faith screams, but it’s too late.

Dream Buffy slashes the knife across the Mayor’s throat with deadly precision, then embeds it in his chest.

Faith starts hyperventilating as she stumbles to her feet. She’s running away before Buffy can even process what the hell just happened.

Buffy looks at her doppelganger. She wipes her knife clean on the Mayor’s shirt then sets off at a leisurely pace after Faith.

Deciding the best course of action is probably to catch up with Faith before her dream twin does, Buffy grits her teeth and starts to jog after them. She curses herself for not having worn shoes to bed, as her feet connect with pebbles and twigs littering the grass. She follows Faith into the trees she’s disappeared into, but as soon as she crosses the tree line, she finds she’s running in full darkness, with only the light of a full moon to illuminate the way. Up ahead she can make out the outline of Faith, who has helpfully dreamed herself to be wearing boots and her usual attire, no longer the barefoot ingénue out for a midday picnic.

She runs faster after her, slowly making headway, mostly because Faith keeps losing ground as she frantically looks back over her shoulder for her pursuer. Buffy catches up just as Faith runs into a cemetery.

“Faith, wait!” She pants, almost tripping as she catches her toe on an errant tree root. “Ow, damn it!”

Faith casts a sideways look at her, but doesn’t break pace.

Ahead of them, Buffy sees an open grave. “Look out!” She shouts, but Faith’s glancing back for dream Buffy, and she can’t stop herself in time. She goes flying into the hole, landing with a soft thud at the bottom.

Inside, she’s frantically sliding through the mud, muttering, “No, no, no,” to herself in a horrified voice.

Buffy looks back. Her doppelganger is walking toward them, knife still clutched in her fist. Unsure what else to do, Buffy drops to her knees and extends her hand to Faith. “Come on,” she says.

Faith’s wild eyes swing to her.

“Now!” Buffy says, stretching her hand down further.

Faith reaches up and clasps her hand, mud coating both their palms as Buffy yanks upward. Faith’s weight comes easier than she expected, and Faith crashes into her on the way out, knocking Buffy backward into the dirt. They right themselves quickly, getting back to their feet. Pushing Faith behind her, Buffy turns to face her doppelganger once more.

Dream Buffy tilts her head, her face otherwise expressionless. She tries to step past Buffy, but Buffy counters her movement, staying in front of Faith.

Dream Buffy’s mouth is a hard line. “I told you I had things to do,” she says, in an ugly voice.

“You don’t,” Buffy says back, her hands in front of her torso defensively, but still loose. “Nothing to do here.” She takes a step backward, feeling Faith mirror her movement.

The other Buffy observes this, then she shrugs. Face still utterly flat, she charges at the two of them, knife glinting in the moonlight.

Buffy shoves Faith away, then drops at the knees. Dream Buffy’s moving too fast and she connects solidly with the shoulder Buffy drives into her abdomen, flipping up and over her.

She lands on her back on the ground, easily rolling to her feet. The knife never leaves her grasp. She ignores Buffy, immediately setting her sights on Faith once more.

Buffy has to practically dive between them to beat Dream Buffy to the punch. Literally. Buffy’s fist meets Dream Buffy’s cheek with enough force to put most anyone, human or demon, out, but Dream Buffy just absorbs it. She twists with the impact, but doesn’t so much as stumble.

Dream Buffy punches back, and Buffy goes flying backward, landing painfully on a tombstone. She’s stunned for a second, groaning in pain. She sees now that there’s no fighting this version of herself. She is the boogeyman in Faith’s dreams, too strong to take on, too quick to outrun.

Buffy looks up through swimming eyes to see her dream self grasping the front of Faith’s shirt. Faith kicks her, hard. Hard enough to shatter someone’s kneecap.

Dream Buffy shakes her leg as though dislodging a fly, and flings Faith to the ground. Faith lands on her back, heels already digging into the mud, trying to push herself back and away from her advancing assailant.

It isn’t going to work; Buffy knows that already. Dream Buffy is too fast. She drags herself back to her feet, wondering vaguely if injuries sustained in Faith’s mind are going to carry over to real life. If so, she’ll have one hell of a bruise.

Forcing her body to move faster than it wants to, Buffy makes her way to the two of them.

Dream Buffy seizes Faith by the ankle, yanking her closer again. She leaps atop Faith gracefully, sitting astride her stomach. Her knees pin Faith’s arms to the ground.

Faith bucks beneath her, trying to free herself. “Please,” she says, sounding pitiful.

Buffy’s almost reached them, and she watches with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as Dream Buffy leans in, her face millimeters from Faith’s. “If you’re a screamer,” she says, with more enthusiasm than she’s shown so far, “feel free.” Then she sits up and raises the knife over her head.

Buffy covers the last few feet as Dream Buffy thrusts the knife down toward Faith’s chest. She kicks, her foot connecting solidly with the knife, and sending it flipping out of her doppelganger’s grasp. Buffy spins, lifting her other foot as she does and kicking Dream Buffy solidly in the temple.

The doppelganger is flung off Faith. Not far enough. Not as far as she would be in the real world, but Buffy takes her opportunity. She reaches down and grabs Faith’s wrist, intending to yank her to her feet.

Instead, they find themselves in Faith’s old motel room.

Faith trembles beside her, her too fast breathing making Buffy’s own internal alarm bells clang even harder. Buffy’s standing between Faith and the door, still clutching one of her wrists. Cautiously, she relaxes, taking a small step away when nothing immediately terrifying happens. “It’s okay,” she says, turning to face Faith. “I think we’re safe now.”

“There’s nowhere safe,” Faith says flatly.

Buffy looks at her, trembling, dirt streaked on her face. “Why not?” She asks.

Faith looks at the door as if it might grow teeth and bite them. “She always finds me.”

“Me, you mean,” Buffy says, frowning.

Faith looks back at her. She nods, then she looks down at Buffy’s pajamas again. “You’re dirty,” she says, sounding puzzled.

“Chasing someone through the woods and then almost falling in an open grave has that effect,” Buffy says. “Sorry I couldn’t just dream myself a new outfit.”

Faith narrows her eyes, looking like gears are turning in her brain. “B?” She finally asks, a note of surprise in her voice.

Before Buffy can respond, there’s a thump at the door. Someone or something has hit it from the outside.

Faith immediately begins freaking out, backing up until her legs hit the bed.

The door rattles as it’s hit, harder this time.

“There has to be somewhere we can go,” Buffy says. Faith’s panic is contagious, and Buffy’s beginning to feel clammy with nerves.

“She’ll always find me,” Faith says in a tortured voice.

The third hit makes the door begin to splinter.

Scrambling backward over the bed, Faith crouches on the far side, barely visible.

Buffy tries to think over the feeling of fear swirling up in her stomach. Faith can’t think of anywhere safe, so Buffy will have to think of something for both of them. But how can she think of somewhere safe in Faith’s head?

Then again, does it have to be _Faith’s_ head?

Suddenly feeling quite sure of herself, she rounds the bed toward Faith. The door makes a groaning sound behind her and caves partially in. Buffy looks back to find herself standing on the other side of the shattered door, already reaching through the hole she’s made to force her way in.

“Faith,” Buffy says, crouching down beside her. “I know a place.”

Faith’s staring in horror at the doorway, and it takes Buffy grasping her shoulder to get her to look away.

“We have to go,” Buffy says, holding out her other hand for Faith to take.

Across the room, dream Buffy is kicking in splintered pieces of the door and stepping through. Her boot meets the floor with a crunching sound.

“Now,” Buffy says urgently. There’s nowhere to run in this room, and she’s not sure what happens if dream Buffy actually stabs Faith, but she doesn’t want to find out.

Faith’s face is a mask of fear, but she manages to reach out and clasp Buffy’s hand.

Concentrating on Faith’s hand in hers, Buffy closes her eyes.

When she cautiously opens them again, she’s pleased to see they’re no longer in Faith’s motel room. They’re crouched behind the counter in the library at Sunnydale High School, still clutching each other’s hands. Faith looks up, then back at her. “We’re in the library,” she says.

“Yeah.”

“I’m never in the library.”

“I am,” Buffy says, “sometimes. In my dreams, I mean.” She gingerly lets go of Faith and stands up. The library is quiet and warm, smelling like old books and furniture polish, like it always did in real life. Behind them, the door to Giles’s office is ajar, his desk shrouded in shadow. Best of all, she’s back in an actual outfit, no more dirty pajamas. “We’ll be safe now.”

“This is a trick,” Faith says, half to herself, not moving.

“No,” Buffy says.

Faith puts her head in both hands. “Not again,” she says under her breath. “Not again.”

“Not what again?” Buffy asks, cautiously getting on her knees next to Faith.

“You,” Faith says, from behind her hands.

Buffy carefully touches Faith’s knee, immediately withdrawing her hand when Faith yanks her leg back, folding herself smaller. She swallows hard. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she says softly.

“Yeah, you are,” Faith says, sounding pitiful. “This way’s worse. Just stab me already.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Buffy says, completely lost.

Faith drops her hands, her eyes red and watery. They look at each other for a moment, Buffy waiting for Faith to explain, and Faith also waiting for something. Buffy’s not sure what.

Faith sighs deeply, then she leans forward, letting one knee touch the ground between them, and takes Buffy’s shoulders in both hands. She pulls a bewildered Buffy forward and kisses her.

Buffy freezes for a second in surprise. This is not the easy, toe curling kiss of the Faith she left behind in the other dimension. Faith is desperate; she’s pushing a little too hard, her fingers digging into Buffy’s shoulders. Her mouth tastes vaguely coppery.

Buffy leans into it, one hand coming up to grip Faith’s elbow, the other landing clumsily on her knee. She keeps her touch gentle, trying to use her body language to soothe whatever is making Faith so frantic right now.

It doesn’t seem to be working. Buffy decides to try the complete opposite strategy. She pushes herself closer, her hand sliding up Faith’s thigh to her hip. She pulls Faith in toward her, wrapping her arm around Faith’s waist and holding her tightly. The cold tile of the library floor digs into her knees.

Faith whimpers against her mouth when Buffy pulls her flush against her. Her hands move into Buffy’s hair, a little too roughly, almost daring Buffy to push her away. Instead of doing that, Buffy brings her free hand to Faith’s cheek. Her thumb is soft when she strokes Faith’s cool skin. She grips her back firmly with her other hand, not making any move to end this.

Buffy doesn’t know what she’s expecting next, but it’s not Faith breaking the kiss and hugging Buffy to her. Faith presses her face into Buffy’s neck.

Buffy wraps both arms around her, one of her hands stroking Faith’s long hair carefully down her back. She still has no idea what Faith was talking about, or how that relates to them kissing, but it doesn’t seem like now’s the time to ask questions.

Faith stays where she is for another minute, then she tentatively pulls herself out of Buffy’s arms. She looks down between them, confused. “Where’s the knife?” She asks.

“I don’t have the knife,” Buffy says reassuringly.

“You always have it,” Faith says, her eyebrows drawing together. “You make me think that you… but, then you have the knife.”

Now, Buffy starts to get it. The version of herself stalking Faith in scenario after scenario isn’t a fluke Buffy caused by appearing in Faith’s mind tonight. She sits back on her heels, feeling sick. “I make you think what?”

Faith doesn’t answer. She’s obviously puzzling things over in her mind. She looks like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. When Buffy doesn’t move, Faith says, “You don’t have the knife.”

Buffy shakes her head.

Slowly getting to her feet, Faith looks over the counter into the empty library. Her eyes bounce around the room as though looking for threats, before settling back on Buffy. Her eyes are wide. “Buffy?” She asks. When she speaks, the library flickers around them, and for a moment they’re on the roof at Faith’s apartment, and Buffy feels the cool metal of a handcuff around her wrist.

“It’s me,” Buffy says, and the library looks solid around them again. “The real me.” She doesn’t know whether that makes Faith more or less afraid.

“This is your head?” Faith asks, her voice sounding cautious.

“Yeah,” Buffy says. She steps back, walking around the counter toward the table and chairs. “Your head was kind of scary, with the constant running to avoid… me.” She sits down in one of the chairs, watching as Faith reaches out to lightly touch the countertop. “Are all your dreams like that?”

“I don’t know,” Faith answers, slowly making her way to the end of the counter, touching everything she passes as though she needs to keep a tangible hold on something to stay here.

“What did you mean a minute ago?” Buffy probes. “What do I make you think?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Faith says flatly.

“It matters to me.”

“Why?” Faith asks, her voice not hard exactly, but not overly friendly.

“It just does.”

“That’s not an answer,” Faith says. Then she adds, “What are you doing here?”

What _is_ she doing here? Trying to recreate the way she felt in the other dimension? Trying to make amends? “I came,” Buffy starts, then stops. She tries again, “I wanted to see you.”

“Here I am,” Faith says bitterly. “Just where you wanted me.”

“I didn’t want—”

“You tried to gut me,” Faith cuts her off.

Buffy winces. “You’d have done the same to me if you had the chance.”

“I guess it’s okay then!” Faith says, her voice angry. “You try to kill me, then you pop into my head when you feel like it, just to chat?”

Buffy tries to cut in. “I’m sorry—”

“You’re sorry?” Faith repeats incredulously. “You tried to kill me, and you _keep_ trying to kill me. Over and over again. If it’s not the cemetery, it’s—” She cuts herself off abruptly.

“What?” Buffy asks, softly.

Faith doesn’t answer immediately. She stands at the end of the counter, her chest heaving, angry, embarrassed. Finally she says, “It’s not real, and I know it’s not, but you tell me it is. You tell me it’s all gonna be okay, and you kiss me like it’s real.” She looks at Buffy then, betrayal in her eyes. “And you kill me. Every time.”

Not too long ago, Faith’s words would have shocked her. She’d thought that Faith was just a flirt. That she just enjoyed seeing Buffy squirm with each of her innuendos. Her time in the other dimension changed her perspective on that. There’s an attraction between her and Faith, from both of them; she gets that now. It may have taken her a while to realize it, but it doesn’t look like Faith had the same problem.

Buffy can understand the way Faith kissed her now. She may be a little late to this party, but wanting something that’s only going to hurt you? Kill you even? That Buffy knows a little too much about. She just never expected Faith to feel like that about her. “I’m sorry,” Buffy tells Faith again, for lack of anything better to say. She crosses her arms over her stomach, feeling small.

Faith seems to deflate before her eyes. She leaves the counter, coming to sit in the chair beside her. “How long has it been?” She asks, sounding tired now.

Buffy winces internally. “Six months,” she answers. “You’re in the hospital. You haven’t woken up.”

This doesn’t seem to be particularly surprising to Faith. She stares at the library door, her face expressionless. Then she asks, “Why’d you let me kiss you?”

Buffy waits for Faith to look back at her, but she doesn’t seem to want to. Her eyes are fixed firmly on the door. After a moment, Buffy admits, “I guess I wanted you to.”

Faith snorts. “Since when?”

Buffy thinks about that. “I don’t know. Longer than I realized, maybe.”

The intercom speaker over the library door crackles. Then a tinny voice emerges, “Buffy Summers to the Principal’s Office.” The voice sounds distinctly like Willow.

Faith doesn’t look at her. “Sounds like you gotta motor,” she says in that same tired voice.

“I guess so,” Buffy says. It doesn’t feel like she’s been asleep for very long. She’s barely gotten to talk to Faith. “I could come back,” she suggests hesitantly. “If you want me to. We could meet here.”

Faith doesn’t exactly jump at the chance to agree she wants Buffy to come back, but she asks, “How?”

Buffy thinks about it for a moment, then she gets up and walks back to the counter. She bends down, rifling through drawers for a moment until she finds what she’s looking for. Choosing a pen from the cup behind the counter, she presses it to the little cream colored card and begins to write. When she’s finished, she comes back around the counter and joins Faith at the table. “Here,” she says, holding out the card.

Faith accepts it, looking at it skeptically. “A hall pass?”

“It says you’re needed in the library,” Buffy points out.

“Am I?” Faith asks.

“What?”

“Needed?”

“Buffy Summers to the Principal’s Office,” the speaker repeats, Willow sounding more frantic now.

Buffy meets Faith’s eyes, starting to reply, when she jolts awake. Willow’s sitting on the edge of her bed, shaking her shoulders roughly. The bedside lamp is on, and Willow’s face is a mask of worry.

“Buffy!” She exclaims. “Are you okay?”

Buffy nods, a little dazed. “I’m fine,” she says. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Willow answers. “You started crying, and I got scared.”

Buffy reaches up, touching her cheek and finding it damp with tears. “I’m okay,” she repeats. “Sorry I scared you.”

“Did it work?” Willow asks, still looking down at her. “Did you see her?”

Nodding, Buffy takes a moment to collect her thoughts. “It was bad.”

“What did she do?”

“It’s not what she did,” Buffy admits. “It’s what I did. Or I’m doing. In her brain.” When Willow only looks confused, Buffy elaborates. “She’s dreaming about me stabbing her. Hunting her.” She sits up, wiping her face with both hands.

Willow puts her hand on Buffy’s leg and squeezes. “I’m sorry, Buffy.”

Buffy gives her a watery smile.

“Do you think you’ll try again?”

There’s no way she can’t, after what she saw tonight. She put Faith in this coma. She’s the reason Faith is trapped in this living nightmare. There has to be a way to fix this. “I think so.”

Willow worries her lip with her teeth for a moment. Then she says, “Please be careful.”

Buffy looks at her, confused.

Willow shrugs uncomfortably. “I know meeting the other Faith gave you this different perspective on her, but, Buffy, she did choose to join the Mayor.”

“I know,” Buffy agrees.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t try,” Willow adds. “Just… be careful.”

“I always am,” Buffy says.

XXXXX

In the long term care wing of Sunnydale hospital, Ruby Greaves, the night shift nurse, sits behind her desk, distractedly eating a sandwich while reviewing the notes left by day shift. She notices something a little strange on the patient in Room 4. Day shift dutifully updated the chart every two hours, turning the patient as required to prevent bed sores. The last update indicated the patient had shown a withdrawal response to pain. Ruby flips further back through the patient’s chart. 18 year old female, severe head trauma in May, extensor posturing to pain, no evidence of verbal response, no eye opening.

Ruby abandons her sandwich and heads for Room 4. Inside the room, the patient appears as she has every day for months, limp and unresponsive. Ruby reaches for the patient’s hand, picking it up gently. She presses her thumb into the girl’s nail bed, and sure enough, her hand jerks back. _Interesting,_ Ruby thinks, carefully grasping the patient’s hand and placing it back at her side.

She startles when she glances up and sees the patient’s eyes are open. A moment later, they fall closed once more. She leans in closer. “Hi, Faith,” she says warmly, as she does most nights. “They treat you well while I was gone?”

The girl’s eyes don’t move again.

Still, eyes opening to pain, withdrawing her hand, these are signs of improvement. The first she’s seen of this patient in her time on the ward. Ruby pats Faith’s hand gently again, and heads back to her desk and waiting sandwich. She’ll ask the other nurses to pay extra attention to this one. Six months is a long time to have been in a coma, but maybe she’s truly making progress. Stranger things have happened, especially in this town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're off! Comments always welcome and appreciated. I am still working on this story, but will post a new chapter every week until it's complete or I catch up to myself. Currently working on Chapter 10.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: there is a vague mention of intimate partner violence and sexual abuse in this chapter. There are no detailed descriptions given.

_The girl’s eyes don’t move again._

_Still, eyes opening to pain, withdrawing her hand, these are signs of improvement. The first she’s seen of this patient in her time on the ward. Ruby pats Faith’s hand gently again, and heads back to her desk and waiting sandwich. She’ll ask her night shift nurses to pay extra attention to this one. Five months is a long time to have been in a coma, but maybe she’s truly making progress. Stranger things have happened, especially in this town._

Chapter Two

Buffy twists anxiously at the ring on her left hand while the doctor gives them an update on Faith’s condition. Or rather, he gives the update to Giles. Giles is, after all, the one masquerading as Faith’s English uncle who’s been unable to secure a travel visa to come visit in all this time. Buffy’s not sure if she’s supposed to be English in this cover story, so she keeps her mouth shut. She doesn’t understand most of what she’s hearing about reactions to stimuli and brain activity, so she tunes it out, waiting until the doctor shakes Giles’s hand and walks away.

Taking a deep breath, Giles turns to her. “Are you sure you want to see her, Buffy? I know you saw her in your dreams, but this will be different.” He frowns slightly.

“I understand,” Buffy says. “I need to see her.”

The two of them start down the hallway. This is the quietest section of a hospital Buffy’s ever been in. As they pass the nursing station, there are two nurses chatting, but otherwise, the only sound on the ward is the beeping of machines. The door to Room 4 is open, and the two of them step inside.

Faith’s bed is in the center of the room. The covers are tucked to her chest, her arms placed atop the blanket. Various wires and tubes are hooked up to her thin body. Buffy doesn’t realize she isn’t moving until Giles touches her back lightly.

She swallows. “Did he say… I mean, can she hear us?”

“They think it’s possible,” Giles says. “They don’t know for sure.”

Taking a few tentative steps forward, Buffy takes in more details. Faith’s hair is flat, but brushed free of tangles, no longer the mess of wild waves Buffy’s used to seeing. Her face is pale, devoid of makeup. Her lips look dry. Buffy reaches carefully for her hand, touching Faith’s skin hesitantly.

Behind her, Giles clears his throat. “Shall I give you a moment? I could get a cup of tea.”

Buffy nods, not looking back. She pulls the beside chair closer, and sits down. Gently, she picks up Faith’s hand and rests it in hers. “Hi, Faith,” she says softly. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but the doctors say maybe you can, and I just wanted you to know… I’m here.”

She strokes the back of Faith’s hand lightly. “I don’t know what to say exactly, so I guess I’ll just tell you about slaying stuff. I think you’d be interested in that.” Buffy launches into a description of her patrol activities from the night before, keeping her voice low enough that she won’t attract the attention of the nurses, who would surely try to have her committed if they heard what she’s talking about. All the while she talks, she doesn’t let go of Faith’s hand.

XXXXX

The library is empty when she finds herself there. Bright sunlight filters in through the high windows in the stacks, and Buffy flicks on the overhead lights, further casting out the shadows in the room. The part she’s not sure of is how to let Faith know she’s here. She thinks for a moment, then walks up the stairs and into the stacks. She heads for the fiction aisle marked P-S, and walks down it, easily finding the book she wants. Heading back downstairs, she flips to the back cover of the book and withdraws its date card. At the counter, she puts the book down. The top drawer has one of Giles’s prized possessions—the date stamp. Buffy picks it up, spins it to yesterday’s date, and rolls it against the accompanying inkpad. She carefully stamps the date card, mimicking the entries above hers. Then she replaces the stamp and picks up a pen. She forges Faith’s name in the next column, then writes the date that the book was taken as two weeks prior.

She fans the card through the air for a moment, letting the ink dry, then places it within the storage box with the other date cards for checked out books. Satisfied with her handiwork, Buffy comes back around the counter and hops up, letting her feet dangle in the air while she waits.

XXXXX

Faith stands at the kitchen counter, chopping garlic, while Diana melts butter in a pan.

“Is that almost ready?” Diana asks, swirling the melting pad over the hot surface.

“Yep,” Faith answers, easily working through the last head on the cutting board. “All yours,” she says. She picks up the cutting board and makes her way to the stove.

“Go ahead and drop it in,” Diana says, turning the heat down slightly.

The garlic meets the pan with a sizzle. The mouthwatering aroma of cooking garlic soon fills the kitchen.

Diana stirs the food methodically, a contented smile on her face. After a moment she looks up, beckoning Faith to come closer.

Faith does, and Diana winds an arm around her shoulder, squeezing her gently. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says.

“Me too.”

“I know I don’t tell you this enough,” Diana starts. Over Faith’s ensuing groan she persists, “I’m really proud of you.” She lets Faith go and swats at her arm lightly. “That’s all I wanted to say. Was that so bad?”

“Yes,” Faith says, but she’s secretly pleased.

“You do need to learn to return your books on time though,” Diana adds.

Confused, Faith looks at her for clarity.

Diana points to the refrigerator, where a hot pink piece of paper stands out from the rest of the items stuck there. Faith frowns, walking over to the fridge and plucking it free. “Overdue,” it states in bold letters. Under that, “Sunnydale High School Library,” followed by her name and the name of a book. Faith reads this, her lip twitching into a smile.

“I should go return this,” she says.

“Sure,” Diana says, reaching for the chopped bell peppers on the counter next to her. “I’ll have dinner ready when you get back.”

Faith nods her agreement, then reaches in her pocket. She pulls out the hall pass that seems to be sticking to her like glue, appearing in the pocket of whatever pants she’s wearing at any time. She closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she’s standing in the hallway of a deserted Sunnydale High. The library is straight ahead. Faith walks through the doors, immediately facing Buffy, who’s sitting casually on the counter.

Faith raises one eyebrow. “I’m overdue to return Bram Stoker’s _Dracula_?”

Buffy reaches back over the counter and plucks the Dracula date card free. She holds it out to Faith. “You should really be more timely with your returns. Giles charges a fine.”

Faith accepts the card and reads it. “Maybe you can spot me,” she suggests, looking back up, “considering you forged my name.”

“Consider your $0.25 paid,” Buffy agrees magnanimously.

Faith sets the card back down on the counter and crosses her arms in front of her chest. Buffy’s not wearing pajamas this time. Instead she looks freshly showered and dressed in jeans and a long sleeved white top. It’s one of Faith’s favorites on her, just for the way it makes her look deceptively delicate. She wonders briefly whether Buffy chose this shirt, or it’s her mind making her see what she wants. Faith leans against the edge of the counter. “Wasn’t sure you were really coming back,” she says.

“It felt like we didn’t really get to finish talking,” Buffy says, sounding a little uncertain.

Faith nods. The sudden appearance of the real Buffy in her mind after so long— _six months,_ she reminds herself—has thrown her for a loop. She’s seen Buffy countless times, chasing her. Hurting her. Then there are the other times. The ones she didn’t go into too much detail with when Buffy— _real Buffy_ —asked. Whatever parts of her brain are in charge right now seem to delight in thinking of new ways to torture her. It’s still hard to trust that this is real.

“So,” Buffy says, awkwardly, “how are you, umm, since yesterday?”

_Yesterday,_ Faith thinks, a little bit mystified, then realizes it must have been just a day since Buffy was last here. She shrugs. “I’m here,” she says. “It’s not like I can really count the days.”

Buffy thinks for a moment. “We probably could count them,” she says, “if you want to.” She lifts her legs, swinging them easily over the backside of the counter and jumping down. Faith follows her as she goes into Giles’s office and begins moving things around on his desk.

“Good thing none of this is real,” Faith points out. “Giles would have a stroke over you moving his tchotchkes.”

Buffy smirks at that, then waves her hand at the desk. “I give you: a device for tracking days.”

Faith steps inside the room, looking down at the desk. “I think those are called ‘calendars.’”

“Correct,” Buffy says cheerfully. She digs through the pen cup on Giles’s desk, emerging with a black marker. Leaning down, she scratches off the first several days of the month of December, then holds the marker out to Faith. “Today was the 8th,” she says.

Taking the marker, Faith steps around the desk and lines through December 8th. It makes her feel a little more grounded to know what the date is, but it also just underlines how long she’s been out of commission. This time last year things were, well, not good, exactly—Mrs. Post had just come through town—but they were okay. She and Buffy were patrolling, and she knew about Angel being back, and they were trying to be friends. Or Buffy was. Faith was trying to pretend she only wanted to be friends. Then everything went wrong and she found herself jumping off a roof with a hole in her gut.

“Faith,” Buffy says uneasily, as they both hear the sound of tires driving over asphalt.

Faith knows exactly what that sound is. It’s the last sound she heard, the truck driving away from her apartment building, with her bleeding out in the back. Faith reaches for the edge of the desk, needing to put her hands on something concrete. Instead, her hand finds Buffy, stepping closer in concern.

Buffy doesn’t seem to mind Faith’s flailing grasp. She catches her hand, bringing her other hand to Faith’s back.

It’s strange to have Buffy touching her. The usual feelings are there instantly: fear because she knows that however nice Buffy’s acting, she’s ultimately going to stab her anyway, the longing she still feels for her, even knowing what will happen, and the shame of not being able to stop herself from feeling that way. When Buffy doesn’t do anything more than rub her back lightly, she relaxes slightly, reminding herself that this is the real Buffy. Nothing bad is going to happen.

Gradually, the office becomes quiet again, except for the sound of Faith taking measured breaths.

“You okay?” Buffy asks quietly. She’s still holding Faith’s hand.

Faith nods. After a moment, she releases Buffy’s hand.

Buffy looks at her in concern. “I guess the dreams haven’t been any better?” She asks.

Faith shrugs. She was with Diana most recently, but other than that, she doesn’t know. She can’t remember everywhere she goes in her mind. Was it after the last time in the library that she was she in Lester Worth’s apartment? The good professor standing there with his bow tie and his confused smile, at least until she slammed him against the wall and sank a dagger into his chest?

Buffy takes a startled breath, and Faith glances at her, only to see with some alarm that they’re both standing in Worth’s apartment. She looks back at her own hands. One pins the professor to the wall, the other twists the knife in his chest. _No!_ Faith releases him immediately, stepping back as he crumples to the floor. Her hand is wet with blood and she rubs it against her dark jeans, desperate to remove the stain from her skin.

“Faith,” Buffy says in what can only be a horrified voice, and Faith backs away from Buffy and the body on the floor. The blood leaching into the hardwoods. The jaunty bow tie so macabre on a corpse.

“Faith, wait,” Buffy says, but Faith is pushing past her, her feet carrying her to the door to the apartment. She wrenches it open but Xander stands on the other side.

Faith shakes her head, slamming the door. She knows what happens next and she can’t see it again.

She turns from the door, to find Buffy right behind her. They’re in her motel room now. On the bed, Xander is sprawled back, with another version of herself sitting astride him. “You wanna feel a connection?” She hears herself ask. “It's just skin.” Faith tears open his shirt.

Faith can’t bear to look at Buffy beside her, watching all of this play out.

“I see,” Faith says on the bed, starting to rock back and forth on top of Xander. “I want. I take.” She leans down and kisses Xander hard. “I forget.”

“No,” Xander says, sounding afraid. “No, wait. It was more than that.”

“I could do anything to you right now, and you want me to,” Faith tells Xander, leaning close to his face.

Faith closes her eyes, not wanting to see this again. Shame sits deep in her stomach, twisting her belly into knots.

Buffy’s voice makes her open her eyes again. “I can make you scream,” Buffy purrs from the bed, sitting on top of Faith. She’s wearing the red leather pants from _that night_ , but her jacket’s tossed off, a black tank top showing the toned muscles in her arms as she holds herself up. Faith’s underneath her, maybe afraid, maybe turned on, as Buffy begins kissing her. Buffy grips Faith’s lip in her teeth, tugging and pulling it. She lets go, her voice breathless with excitement when she says, “I could make you die.”

Buffy kisses her again as her hands go to Faith’s throat. She begins to squeeze.

Under her, Faith bucks, trying to peel Buffy’s hands from her neck. She pushes at Buffy’s arms as her face starts to turn red. The only sound in the room is that of Faith’s hands desperately hitting Buffy, not strong enough to make her stop.

Beside her, the real Buffy steps in front of her, blocking her view. She grabs Faith’s shoulders with both hands and squeezes tightly. The motel disappears, and the bed along with it. They’re back in the library, standing in the middle of the room.

Buffy releases her and walks a few feet away, not facing Faith.

Turning on her heel, Faith heads for the doors to the hallway.

“Where are you going?” Buffy demands from behind her.

Faith stops, but she doesn’t turn around. She can’t see the look she knows will be on Buffy’s face. “I’m leaving,” she says.

“Just like that?” Buffy asks, sounding ticked.

Faith doesn’t know what she wants. Buffy can’t have expected she’d be walking into a highlight reel of Faith’s worst deeds. Why does she even want Faith to stay here? “What do you want me to say?” She asks, finally forcing herself to turn around. Buffy looks back at her, her face white, frowning. "There’s nothing I can do, B. I can't ever make it right."

Buffy looks at her hard for a moment. “So you're just going to take off again?”

“It would make things easier.”

“For me?” Buffy asks skeptically. “Or for you?”

“You,” Faith says. “I don’t know if it escaped your notice, but I’m out of the game. You made sure of that.”

Buffy looks down at her own hands, which are now warm with Faith’s blood. She frowns, her lip cut and bleeding from Faith’s last good hit that night on the roof. She grits her teeth, and the blood disappears. “I don’t want easy,” she says.

“What do you want?” Faith asks, half confused, half angry. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here for you,” Buffy says, sounding sincere. Well, sincerely pissed off, but Faith’s used to that.

“What does that mean?” Faith probes.

Buffy throws her arms up in the universal signal for _hell if I know._ “I’m trying, Faith,” she says. “I made mistakes. You did, too, but you also helped me when it mattered.”

Faith blinks at her.

“Human weakness,” Buffy prompts.

Faith blanches, and a picnic basket appears on the counter beside her.

“I know you loved him,” Buffy says, her voice softer. “I get that now. But you did the right thing. You gave me the key to stopping him. You stopped the ascension.” She takes a few steps in Faith’s direction. “You can’t take back what you did,” Buffy says. “Neither can I. We have to live with it.”

“I don’t think I’m living with anything,” Faith points out, gesturing around them to the library.

“You will,” Buffy says, sounding sure. “And I’ll be with you when you do, if you want that.”

Faith looks to the counter again. The picnic basket is gone. Their training mitts are out, ready to be slipped on for them to spar. She remembers nights in this room, wearing those mitts while Buffy practiced punching, the two of them going round and round each other. There was a time when she wanted nothing more than Buffy promising to be at her side no matter what. But after all this, does she really want Buffy anywhere near her?

Buffy approaches her like she would a wild animal, concerned but cautious. She stops in front of Faith, close enough to touch if she tried. “I thought I didn’t have a choice,” she says, her voice low. “Angel was dying… and I couldn’t think of a way to save him and still be alive to try to stop the Ascension.”

“I understand,” Faith says. “You had to save your boy.” She doesn’t mean for it to come out as angry as it sounds.

“I did save him,” Buffy says. She turns her head and lifts her hair, showing Faith twin scars where her shoulder meets her neck. “There’s always a choice. Maybe not a good one, but there’s a choice.” She drops her hair again. “I made the wrong one. I made a lot of wrong ones when it came to you. I’m sorry.”

Faith swallows hard. Buffy looks away from her face and she sees they’re standing in Faith’s apartment again. Boxes are stacked haphazardly around the room. Buffy nods, like this makes perfect sense to her. “So,” she says, “I guess I’m here because we have another choice.” Buffy’s eyes have that glint in them that she gets when she’s making an impassioned speech about something. “Wake up,” Buffy says. “Stay here. Fight. With me.”

“I’m not sure I can,” Faith says, meaning this in the literal sense.

“Try,” Buffy says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like she has any idea what she’s asking Faith to do. Wake up, go back into the world, a world without the Boss, where everyone knows what she did.

Faith thinks about it, standing in the shadow of the broken window. The cat that’s always here lies on her bed, flicking its tail impatiently. Faith’s been falling for a long time. She doesn’t know how to stop herself. She never has. There’s nowhere left to fall now. She’s alone. She’s broken. But Buffy’s standing here, offering her hand. A way to start climbing back out of this hole she’s created. All she has to do is take it.

“Okay,” Faith says.

XXXXX

The nurse on duty recognizes Buffy when she walks down the hall of the long-term care ward shortly before the end of visiting hours. “Hi again,” she says. “You’re here for Faith, right?”

Buffy nods. “Is that okay?” She asks. “I meant to come earlier, but I got held up.”

“That’s okay,” the nurse says. “You can stay a while, as long as you don’t mind me being in there with you for a bit. I’ve gotta attend to her beauty routine,” she adds with a smile.

Buffy has no idea what that could possibly mean, so she just nods agreeably, happy to be allowed in so close to the end of visiting hours. The nurse moves off cheerfully, so Buffy continues her trek to Faith’s door.

This time she’s a little more at ease, and she walks right to Faith’s bedside. She slips her messenger bag over her shoulder and sets it down beside the waiting chair. “Hey, Faith,” she says softly, reaching over the safety bar to grasp Faith’s hand in hers. “I’m back. Hope that’s okay.” She squeezes Faith’s hand gently, looking at her still face. “I know I’ll probably see you tonight anyway, but I wanted to see you, umm, here, I guess. While I’m awake.” She frowns. “I don’t know if that makes any sense.” She rubs Faith’s arm softly, feeling a little awkward. “It just felt like I needed to be here.”

She looks down at Faith’s unresponsive face for another moment, then closes her eyes. She concentrates on the feeling of Faith’s hand resting in hers. Merrick was the first to teach her this skill, when she first became a slayer, and her ability to sense supernatural creatures, including slayers, has only gotten stronger over time. Buffy forces her mind to clear of the rest of her thoughts, focusing only on Faith’s hand, then the steady drum of Faith’s pulse in her wrist, the slight sound of her breathing, audible to Buffy even over the whirring and humming of all the machines in the room. Beyond all that, Buffy gropes toward that little spark she’s always felt in Faith. The slayer line runs in both of them and it recognizes itself in some primal way that she doesn’t quite understand. She just knows that when Faith is around, something in the back of her neck feels electric.

It takes quieting everything else inside her, but she finds it. It’s soft, more of a low flicker than the forest fire she knows it can be, but it’s something. She leans into that, holding Faith’s hand tighter, squeezing her eyes shut. Buffy doesn’t know anything about magic or how it works, but maybe she doesn’t need to. The slayer line is magic, older and more powerful than most, and that magic runs through her and Faith. Buffy’s spent a lot of time avoiding that, bemoaning it, wishing it had chosen anyone other than her, but she also knows their magic heals. It’s done so plenty of times for them both. She has to believe it can do it again for Faith. If it needs a little jump start, well, that’s why she’s here. Buffy feeds that little flicker, willing the strength running through her to help Faith. She has no idea if this will do anything at all, but it can’t hurt to try.

“Sweetheart,” the nurse says from the door in an apologetic tone, making Buffy’s concentration break. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you when you’re praying.”

Buffy opens her eyes, forcing a smile. “That’s okay.”

It’s the nurse from the hallway and she identifies herself as Jeanine. It turns out that Faith’s beauty routine involves getting her teeth brushed and her hair combed. “You can help, if you want,” Jeanine says, then laughs at Buffy’s look of trepidation. “Not with the teeth part. But lots of families like to brush their loved one’s hair, or help with massaging her arms and legs. We try to do what we can to keep their muscles from atrophying.”

“Oh,” Buffy says, “sure. I could help with that.”

“Great,” Jeanine says cheerfully. She pulls a rolling table over and begins setting up her supplies. All the while she keeps up a constant stream of conversation, which Buffy guesses you have to learn to do when your patients can’t talk back.

“So, how do you know Faith?” Jeanine asks, as she gloves up.

“Work, I guess,” Buffy says, then catches herself. “Uh, at the mall. We both worked at the Piercing Pagoda for a while.”

“Well, you’re a good friend to come check on her,” Jeanine says kindly, unwrapping some sort of spongey implement. She turns Faith’s chin toward her, easily opening her mouth. “Oh, you’re fine,” she says, when Buffy starts to back up from the bed. “It’ll only be a minute.”

“Okay,” Buffy says awkwardly. She tries not to watch as the woman cleans Faith’s teeth carefully.

“There,” Jeanine says, once she’s finished. “All set.” She puts her instruments inside a small tray and brings it to the sink in the room. She peels off her gloves, dropping them in the trash. After washing her hands, she opens a drawer beside the sink and pulls out a comb wrapped in plastic. “Do you want me to show you what we do with her hair?”

“Sure,” Buffy agrees. “Is there more to it than just brushing?”

“A little bit,” Jeanine says, returning with the unwrapped comb. She holds it out to Buffy, then pulls two more gloves free from the box beside the bed. Slipping them on, she says, “First, I give her a little scalp massage to stimulate circulation.” Jeanine demonstrates, sliding her fingers into Faith’s hair and beginning to massage her head. “She can’t tell you if something hurts, so just try to be gentle about it.”

Buffy nods.

“Then, yeah, you just comb her hair. Again, you want to be careful that you don’t pull on any tangles and hurt her. When you’re done with this side,” she says, “you turn her head in the opposite direction so you can get to the rest of her hair.” She carefully adjusts Faith’s head, demonstrating for Buffy her technique.

“Okay,” Buffy agrees. “I can do that.” As Jeanine beams, Buffy asks, “What about the, umm, massing her arms and legs?”

“Right,” Jeanine says. She lifts Faith’s free hand with both of hers. “I’m gonna show your friend your exercises now, Faith,” she says, before lightly pressing her thumbs into the back of Faith’s hand and rubbing in circles. “You can do this up and down both arms, lightly,” she stresses. “We do this every day and we’ll work her muscles a bit more, so don’t feel like you need to, you know, really dig in or something. You don’t want to hurt her. Same technique with her legs.”

Buffy nods, feeling a little intimidated.

Jeanine notices. “Hey,” she says, kindly, “just do what you feel comfortable with. You’re here. That’s what matters.” She smiles again. “I’ll be around if you need me.” Glancing at the clock in the room, she says, “You can stay maybe another 30 minutes if you want.”

“Thank you,” Buffy says sincerely. She waits until Jeanine leaves, then gets up and washes her hands as the nurse did. Back at Faith’s bedside, Buffy sits down lightly on the edge of the bed. Then she takes a deep breath and slides both hands into Faith’s hair, mimicking the nurse’s massage technique. There’s no way to know if Faith enjoys this, or even knows it’s occurring, but Buffy makes sure she covers her entire scalp anyway, leaving no part of Faith’s head neglected. Then she picks up the comb and carefully runs it through Faith’s hair. Again she’s struck by the way Faith’s hair sits flat and straight, so different from the mess of waves she’d had most of the time.

She finishes one side, then very cautiously turns Faith’s head so she can comb the other half of her hair. When she’s finished, she sets the comb down on the table beside the bed, and runs the palm of her hand over Faith’s hair, smoothing it down. Her time’s almost up, and she hasn’t even been able to start massaging Faith’s arms like the nurse suggested. Buffy looks at her blank face, wanting to do more but unsure what. Faith’s lips are a little dry. The nurse didn’t say anything about that, but what could a little lip balm hurt?

Buffy gets up, rummaging in her bag for a minute until she unearths a tube of vanilla flavored lip balm. She uncaps it and returns to the bed, leaning down slightly to apply the tube to Faith’s lips. She uses her fingertip to lightly spread the balm so it covers Faith’s lips totally. Satisfied, she recaps the tube and slides it into her pocket. “I know it’s not red like you like,” she says to Faith, “but it’s a little like makeup.” She glances up at the clock again. Time’s up. “I better go before they kick me out,” Buffy says. She hesitates a second, then leans in and kisses Faith’s forehead softly. “I’ll see you tonight,” she says.

XXXXX

Faith kicks her legs higher, gripping the chains of the swing tightly. The sun’s going down, and the park’s deserted other than her. Leaves litter the ground, and there’s a chill in the air that comes right through her threadbare jacket. Still, she’s not anxious to leave and go home. One of her mother’s boyfriends is always there, and Faith never knows which one she might be walking in to. It could be Gary, the one who wanted her mom to go to rehab and bought her a bike for her 6th birthday. It could be Jim. He showed up when she was 9, and beat her mom so bad Faith had nightmares about it for weeks. Still has nightmares about it, actually, since she’s sitting in one right now. It could also be David, and if it’s him, it’s usually Faith’s 13th birthday.

She starts to sweat just thinking about that and pushes the swing higher and faster, as if anything could be fast enough to outrun the memory of him slipping into her bedroom and pulling back her covers.

_Don’t think about it,_ she tells herself, because when she thinks about it, half the time she just appears back in whatever she’s thinking about. The park starts to flicker around her, and Faith finds the swing will no longer move. She looks down to find herself in a Garfield t-shirt and a pair of her mom’s pajama pants. _No, goddamn it, not again._ She grits her teeth, climbing off the swing and starting to walk.

She’s sucking in deep breaths, trying to keep herself grounded in the park, and that’s when she smells it. Vanilla. Sweet vanilla, like cake frosting. Faith pauses in confusion, looking around. The smell immediately makes her think of Buffy. Buffy pulling out a little tube of lip balm and reapplying on patrol, smelling like a cupcake every time. Faith reaches in her pocket and touches the hall pass, relieved to find she’s back in jeans. The hall pass hasn’t left her yet, but she still likes to reassure herself that it’s still there. It’s a lifeline to another place, out of her own mind, where most of the things that are haunting her can’t reach her. She doesn’t think it’s time to go to the library yet. Until then she’ll go to the beach, watch for ships coming into the harbor. Leaving her hand in her pocket where she can touch the smooth paper, she starts to walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always appreciated! I hope you're enjoying this so far. :)


	3. Chapter 3

_Faith reaches in her pocket and touches the hall pass, relieved to find she’s back in jeans. The hall pass hasn’t left her yet, but she still likes to reassure herself that it’s still there. It’s a lifeline to another place, out of her own mind, where most of the things that are haunting her can’t reach her. She doesn’t think it’s time to go to the library yet. Until then she’ll go to the beach, watch for ships coming into the harbor. Leaving her hand in her pocket where she can touch the smooth paper, she starts to walk._

Chapter Three

She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting in the living room in the dark, her fingers so tight around her stake that her wrist is cramping. Every slight sound in the apartment makes her jump, her eyes flying around the room, checking all the doors and windows for signs of intrusion. Logically she knows that vampires can’t come in unless they’re invited, but that doesn’t stop her from panicking. Nausea makes her stomach roll, the back of her throat hot with bile and the effort of not crying.

Diana is dead, and it’s her fault. The one person who ever gave a shit about her, and Faith couldn’t protect her. She’s supposed to be the slayer. She’s supposed to be the one who stands alone against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She’s supposed to be enough. And if she can’t, then she’s supposed to die trying. She’s not supposed to allow herself to be distracted fighting Kakistos’s minions while he abducts Diana. While he tortures her.

She closes her eyes momentarily, shaking her head as her brain conjures again the image of Diana sprawled on the floor of Kakistos’s lair, face frozen in pain from the damage he inflected on her. She balls her empty fist and brings it down firmly to her thigh, the pain at least driving Diana’s death scene from her mind.

She’s a pathetic excuse for a slayer; she sees that now. Sitting in Diana’s apartment, waiting out sunrise so she can run away. To Sunnydale, to Buffy, the _real_ slayer. Diana believed in her; she trusted her; and Faith failed her. And now she won’t even avenge her watcher. She’s going to tuck tail and run like a fucking coward.

She angrily wipes the escaping tears from her face. _Stop crying._ Punching her thigh again, she’s tries to force herself to get angry, to do anything other than give in to the pressure building in her chest.

Her breathing is too fast, too loud in the dark, and that makes her panic more. She has to be alert! She has to hear them if they come!

“Faith?” She hears, and snaps to attention, bringing her stake up.

Buffy stands across the room, looking confused.

Squinting at her, Faith cautiously lowers her stake.

Buffy takes a few tentative steps toward her. “I didn’t mean to come to you,” she says, obviously realizing something is off about the scene she’s walked into. “I was trying to go to the library.” She accidentally bumps into the coffee table, and Faith jumps, looking frantically at the door.

“Okay,” Buffy says, putting her hands up, “that was me. It’s okay. I’m sorry.” She cautiously approaches the rest of the way. “I’m going to turn this on, okay?” She asks, reaching for the lamp on the table beside Faith.

“No!” Faith says, her voice too loud. She immediately shrinks back in her chair, looking at the door once more.

“Okay,” Buffy says again, her voice soft and calm. She sinks down slowly until she’s squatting in front of Faith’s chair, lower than her eye level. She shows Faith her hands, and then slowly, starting with Faith’s neck, runs them all over Faith, looking for any wounds.

Faith submits to this, barely even glancing at Buffy as her hands slip inside Faith’s jacket, feeling around her sides and then her back, then her limbs.

Finding no obvious wounds, Buffy rests her palms on Faith’s knees, looking up at her. “Faith,” she says in that same soft voice, “can you tell me what happened?”

“Diana,” Faith starts to say, but she chokes on just her name.

Understanding flickers across Buffy’s face. “This is the night she was killed?”

“It’s my fault,” Faith says, her voice barely a whisper.

“No,” Buffy protests immediately. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” Faith says, roughly wiping her face again. Diana’s dead. Crying won’t bring her back.

Reaching up, Buffy gently cups Faith’s face in her hands and wipes her tears with her thumbs. “I promise you, it wasn’t.”

Faith wishes she could believe that, but it’s hard to see it any other way. She didn’t protect her watcher. Now she’s dead. And Faith’s next.

Outside, somewhere under the windows, there’s a rustling sound like something moving in the bushes. Faith tenses, her heart beating frantically within her chest. It’s Kakistos. It has to be.

Buffy’s hold on her face tightens just a bit. “Faith,” she says in a more commanding voice.

Faith looks at her with wide eyes.

“This happened a long time ago,” Buffy says. “You don’t have to stay here. We can leave.” She’s starting to look worried. “You know that, right?”

Faith blinks, trying to follow her logic. Of course she has to stay here. She has to stay until morning, then she’ll go to Sunnydale and find Buffy. But Buffy’s here. How can that be?

“We can go to the library,” Buffy says, removing her hands from Faith’s cheeks. She smoothes Faith’s hair back with one hand. “Remember the library?”

Faith nods. The library is safe. She’s been there.

“Will you come with me?”

She nods again.

Buffy gives her a relieved look, then she stands up all the way. She holds out her hand as if to help Faith up from her chair.

Faith takes it.

They’re in the library, behind the counter, like the first time they came here, only this time they’re standing.

Taking a deep breath, Faith tries to push the memory they just came from out of the forefront of her mind. She’s in the library. It’s December 1999. Diana’s been dead a long time. So has Kakistos.

Buffy is watching her with worried eyes.

Faith lets go of her hand and takes a step back from her. She turns away, crossing her arms over her stomach and trying to get herself under control. They may have left Diana’s apartment, but that night feels just as real as ever. The fear running through every part of her, making her clammy and nauseous. The guilt and pain at Diana’s death. She sniffles loudly, reaching up to wipe her face again. On top of everything else, now Buffy’s walked into one of the worst nights of her life and witnessed her falling apart. It’s humiliating.

She feels Buffy lay her hand tentatively against her back. Faith’s instinct is to curl further into herself, away from Buffy, but Buffy cuts her off at the pass, her other hand tucking around Faith’s bicep and turning her around.

“I’m fine,” Faith starts to protest, but finds her mouth muffled by Buffy’s shirt when Buffy wraps both arms around her firmly.

Some stupid, traitorous part of her body takes this as its cue to well up further with tears, and Faith grits her teeth. She squeezes her arms tighter around herself, not breathing because she knows that if she inhales, the next exhale will be a sob, and she can’t bring herself to let Buffy see that.

“Breathe,” Buffy says, feeling the way her body is shaking silently. She runs her hand lightly over Faith’s hair, down her back, over and over again. “Breathe.”

Faith shakes her head, eyes squeezed shut. She strains in Buffy’s grasp, not shoving her away, but not relaxing.

“It’s okay,” Buffy says, still petting her, just waiting her out because they both know Faith has to breathe sometime. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

That’s sort of the problem, because Faith can’t remember a time in her life when someone held her while she cried. She doesn’t know how to let that happen, especially when that someone is Buffy. But her lungs feel like they’re going to burst, so she finally sucks in a breath. As if they’ve been waiting for this, tears stream down her face, wetting the shoulder of Buffy’s shirt. Buffy doesn’t move away, not even when Faith’s next breath is a hiccup and a sob, just holds her tighter.

They sway on their feet when Faith starts to cry harder. Her chest and throat burn from the effort. Little by little Faith’s arms come out from around herself, until her fingers find the soft fabric of Buffy’s shirt. Then her arms are around Buffy, the back of her shirt squeezed in Faith’s fists.

Her fingers are digging into Buffy’s back, squeezing her so tightly that it has to hurt. Faith tries to order herself to calm down but she can’t. She can’t make herself stop crying. She can’t get her breathing under control.

“You’re okay,” Buffy says, her voice soft against Faith’s hair, not sounding in the least bit bothered by Faith’s grip on her. Buffy steps in closer, her chin tucking into Faith’s shoulder. She doesn’t seem to care that Faith is soaking her shirt.

They stand there, Faith shaking, Buffy’s arms solid and strong around her, until Faith finally takes a deep breath, her eyes tired but dry. She slowly releases the death grip she has on Buffy’s shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles with her flat palms. She sniffles, tilting her head down so her forehead rests on Buffy’s shoulder, and Faith takes another deep breath. “Sorry about your shirt,” she says in a small voice.

“It doesn’t matter,” Buffy says, her voice quiet. She turns toward Faith’s downturned face and kisses her temple. Her hand runs up and down Faith’s back soothingly.

Faith knows she should pull away. She’s not crying anymore. It just feels good to have someone close to her, without any fear of potentially being stabbed. In a way, it’s weird that it’s Buffy, the person responsible for putting her in a coma, but then again, the biggest thing she’s got going for her right now is a semi regular hang out in an imaginary library, so weird is a relative concept. There’s also the fact that Faith’s been pining hard for Buffy since the night that she grabbed Faith’s hand and yanked her down an alley at full speed away from Kakistos. So maybe this makes perfect sense.

Buffy releases her slowly, as though at any moment Faith might dissolve into another fit of tears and need her shoulder to sop them up. She doesn’t let go all at once, her hands moving from Faith’s back to her arms, where she waits a moment, dipping her head so she can look at Faith’s downturned face.

Faith reluctantly meets her eyes. Buffy’s eyes are wet too, the corners of her mouth turned down, a little wrinkle between her eyebrows. Faith’s never seen this particular expression on her face before and she’s not entirely sure what it means.

Buffy’s hand leaves her arm, coming up to brush the lingering wetness from Faith’s cheek. Faith’s not sure what to do with her hands, nervously resting them on Buffy’s hips.

After a moment, Buffy gives her a flicker of a smile and says, “Come on.”

Faith doesn’t ask where they’re going. She follows Buffy out of the bright library and into Giles’s office. Buffy doesn’t turn the lights on but she goes to the cabinet where Giles keeps their training equipment. She pulls out a floor mat then carries it to the opposite corner of the room, under the window, where she lets it flop to the ground. She pushes it against the wall with her toe then motions for Faith to come closer.

Faith’s confused for a second, then Buffy kicks off her shoes and walks onto the mat, sitting down with her back to the wall. Bending down, Faith unlaces her boots, then she steps onto the mat and sits down in the space next to Buffy. As she sits back, Buffy moves closer to her, so they’re shoulder to shoulder. She slides her arm under Faith’s, taking her hand and lacing their fingers together.

Faith swallows hard, looking down at their hands resting on her thigh.

Buffy leans in, laying her cheek on Faith’s shoulder. “This okay?” She asks.

Nodding before she remembers that Buffy can’t see her, Faith clears her throat and says, “Yeah.”

It’s warm and dark in Giles’s office, the desk a few inches from their feet. It feels like they’re in a cave, just the two of them, and Faith feels herself start to relax.

Squeezing Faith’s hand, Buffy says, “Tell me about her.”

It takes Faith a minute to think of what to say, but once she starts talking, she can’t stop. She tells Buffy about how she laughed in Diana’s face when she came to tell her she had been called as the slayer. She talks about moving in with Diana, how weird it was to have her own bedroom again after years in foster care. The way Diana would fall asleep on the couch waiting for her to come home for patrol, but wake up immediately with their first aid kit at the ready. The meals they cooked together, and the weapons Diana tried to teach her to use. Tried being the operative word because Faith’s always been a knife girl. She’s got no use for quarterstaffs or any of that archaic crap. She tells Buffy how Diana liked an absurd amount of honey in her tea and had a deep abiding love for _The X-Files,_ like they didn’t get enough weird and creepy shit in their real lives. She tells her about the time when Diana actually managed to best her during training, getting in a lucky kick to her knee, and how the surprise on her face made Faith laugh so hard she almost peed her pants.

“You loved her,” Buffy says, when Faith finally runs out of things to say.

“Yes,” Faith says.

“She loved you, too.”

Faith shrugs.

“Did I ever tell you about my first watcher?” Buffy asks, lifting her head from Faith’s shoulder to look at her.

Faith’s surprised to hear that Giles wasn’t her first watcher. She shakes her head.

Buffy sits up, turning a little so she’s facing Faith. “His name was Merrick,” she says. “Merrick Jamison-Smythe. He was assigned to me when we still lived in LA.”

Faith doesn’t think being a watcher is the kind of career a person usually gets to retire from, at least not when they’re assigned to the active slayer. “What happened to him?”

“He killed himself.”

“Shit,” Faith says, shocked by her answer.

Buffy nods, her face turned down. Faith can guess from the sadness on her face that she doesn’t tell this story much. She doesn’t press Buffy to say more, just waits until she’s ready.

After a minute, Buffy says, “There was this vamp, Lothos. He was old, supposedly killed other slayers. He came to LA, looking to add another one to his list, I guess.”

Faith nods. Buffy isn’t looking at her, but down at her lap.

“I was new. I didn’t want to be the slayer.” Buffy frowns. “I was trying to pretend I wasn’t, actually. He attacked us, and Merrick told me to run.” Her lip trembles slightly.

Faith squeezes her hand in sympathy.

Buffy glances up, giving her a weak smile. Then she looks back down. “I was scared,” she admits. “I shouldn’t have left him.”

Faith remembers how scared she was when she first found out she was the slayer. She’d probably have run if Diana told her to. She didn’t know any better.

“Merrick had a gun,” Buffy says, swallowing hard before she blurts the rest out. “He shot himself to stop Lothos from making him a vampire.”

“That’s awful,” Faith says. She can’t imagine how she’d have felt if her watcher had done that.

Buffy nods. “It’s more awful because he did it to protect me. Lothos had seen me, but he didn’t know my name or how to find me.”

Faith asks, “What happened to the vamp?”

“He found me,” Buffy says. “It was the night of the Spring Fling, and I was at school. He brought a bunch of vamps, came into the dance. It was like an all you can eat buffet.” She winces before she says the next part. “So I burned down the gym with him inside it. Then I got expelled.”

Buffy still looks gutted thinking about this time in her life. Faith hates seeing that look on her face, so she goes to old faithful—humor to hide the real emotions. “Huh,” she says, letting that sink in. “Buffy Summers, arsonist.”

She gets the expected reaction when Buffy cracks a little smile. “Guilty,” Buffy says with a sigh. She finally looks back up at Faith. “I always felt like it was my fault. If I would have just taken the slayer stuff seriously, trained harder… he wouldn’t have felt like he had to do that. He wouldn’t even have been out with me that night.”

Faith frowns. “You were just called.”

“Yeah, but I was the Slayer,” Buffy says, shrugging.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Faith says, already seeing that she’s walking right into a trap.

Buffy gives her a pointed look.

“I get it,” Faith says.

Buffy nods, satisfied with that answer. She scoots down the mat a little, rearranging so she can put her head back on Faith’s shoulder.

“Here,” Faith says impulsively, releasing Buffy’s hand. She pulls her arm free and lifts it, leaving room for Buffy to tuck herself under it.

Buffy doesn’t hesitate. She slides under Faith’s arm, resting her arm on Faith’s leg once she gets comfortable.

Faith’s hand settles on the outside of Buffy’s arm, her thumb stroking idly as Buffy gets more comfortable. Her cheek rests on Faith’s collarbone, her hair tickling Faith’s chin. It’s been a long time since anyone’s been close to her like this. The coma is an obvious reason—Buffy’s the only part of this that isn’t made up in her own mind—but more than that, Faith’s not traditionally been a cuddly kind of girl. She’s mostly been with guys, and they were fine with her ‘get some, get gone’ philosophy. There was one girl, back in Boston, what feels like a hundred years ago now. Maria was the first, and only, girl until she met Buffy and realized that whole liking girls thing wasn’t a fluke. The two of them met in a group home when Faith was still new to foster care and scared but trying not to let it show. They had the same story: an absentee father and an unfit mother who didn’t even want to try to get her back. Faith had a big mouth even then, but it got her in more trouble without the slayer strength to back it up. Maria was quiet, smart. She didn’t start trouble, but she’d jump into it if it meant having Faith’s back.

They spent that whole first summer together, attached at the hip, usually literally. On the whole, the lack of supervision in their facility probably worked out well for them. It gave them the space to find each other in stairwells, pressing together, kissing until Faith felt like her stomach had turned completely inside out. They were always touching, their legs sandwiched together on the couch during the crappy movie nights the home offered once a week, their hands entwined between them when they rode the bus to the mall, safely out of sight. That was the last time anyone tried to be close to her like that, or the last time she wanted them to, until Buffy.

With Buffy, she wanted to have that same kind of connection. She wanted it to be the two of them against the world. Only Buffy wasn’t like Faith. She didn’t feel like she was alone. She didn’t seem to want or need Faith as her friend or anything else. Faith puts up a good front to everyone, like she’s untouchable, like she’s a loner and she likes it that way, but this right here, Buffy curled up in her arm, is what she’s wanted since she came to Sunnydale. 

Just her luck that when she finally gets it, she’s in a coma. She glances up at Giles desk. “What day is it?” She asks.

“The 10th,” Buffy answers. “Almost Christmas.”

Faith’s never found Christmas that exciting, having spent several of them in group homes. Even before that, her mom wasn’t exactly big on the holiday cheer. Christmas last year was one of the nicer ones. Sitting in Buffy’s living room, their big tree all lit up, Buffy and her mom laughing and joking. Christmas cookies galore. “What’d you ask Santa for this year?” Faith asks.

“The usual,” Buffy says. “A corvette. A million dollars. A vacation to a vampire free island.”

“Solid choices.”

“What do you want?”

“Oh,” Faith says, gesturing grandly around Giles’s office with her free hand. “What more could I need?”

“I’m sure you could think of a few things,” Buffy says dryly.

Faith shrugs.

“What I want,” Buffy says, “all I really want, is just to have a nice, quiet, apocalypse free night at home. Decorating the tree, watching _A Christmas Story,_ all that good stuff.”

“Sounds nice,” Faith agrees.

“Only this time, I won’t leave you with my mom so I can deal with a crisis.”

Faith’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “I’m going to be there?”

“I hope so,” Buffy says, like it’s obvious. Faith can hear the smile in her voice. “Think you can make that happen?”

“I’ll do my best to wake up from my coma in time to make your Christmas wishes come true,” Faith agrees, only half joking.

“That’s all I ask,” Buffy says.

Faith shifts her arm slightly, and Buffy lifts her head. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” Faith says, “you’re good.” She rubs Buffy’s arm lightly, her body a confusing jumble of sensations. Being this close to Buffy feels right, but there’s also a part of her that’s afraid. Logically she knows this is the real Buffy, and she’s done nothing to threaten Faith since she started showing up in her dreams, but she’s banked a lot of time with that _other_ Buffy. It’s hard not to be worried about imminent stabbing. Her nerves are on edge.

Buffy turns a little toward her, curling her knees up.

“Do you really want that?” Faith asks. “Christmas—me there?”

“Yes,” Buffy says. The hand on Faith’s leg squeezes for emphasis.

“What about everyone else?” Faith asks, thinking about Willow, and more especially Xander. “They’re just going to be all hunky dory with me back in the fold?”

Buffy thinks about it. “Willow’s open to it,” she says. “I’ll talk to Xander. Maybe you could talk to him yourself though, when you’re awake.”

“Apologize you mean,” Faith says, feeling a little sick at the idea of seeing Xander again.

“Yeah,” Buffy says.

“That’ll go over well,” Faith says.

Buffy doesn’t seem to have any sage advice. “All you can do is try.”

“I don’t know, B,” Faith says. “There are some things you can't just take back, no matter how sorry you are.”

Buffy tenses a little in her arm. “I know,” she says.

“I didn’t mean _that_ ,” Faith says, although her abdomen starts to hurt, in its usual spot.

“It’s okay,” Buffy says. “You’re right. There are things we can’t take back.” She leans back, looking up at Faith. “Doesn’t mean it’s a lost cause to try.”

Faith feels like she knows a bit more about lost causes than Buffy, but she decides not to rain on her parade. “I’ll try,” she says.

“Good,” Buffy says, with a small smile.

XXXXX

A few miles from where Buffy sleeps soundly in her bed, Faith lies on her left side, pillows bracing her body in that position. The room is dark except for the ever-present fluorescent glow coming from the monitors surrounding her bed. The night shift nurse has already come by to check on her, and Ruby’s come behind her, reviewing Faith’s chart and adding a few notes. No one is due back for a few hours now. Alone in the room, Faith’s hand begins to twitch against the pillow. By the time the next rotation comes through, she’s still once more. The nurse makes her notation in the chart: _No change noted. Will continue to monitor._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a whole lotta dream sequence... :D Hope you enjoyed! Comments always appreciated. We will check back in with the waking world/Buffy's real life next chapter. :)


	4. Chapter 4

_Alone in the room, Faith’s hand begins to twitches against the pillow. By the time the next rotation comes through, she’s still once more. The nurse makes her notation in the chart:_ No change noted. Will continue to monitor.

Chapter Four

Buffy’s half listening to Willow as they walk down the hall toward their dorm room. The other half of her brain is thinking about finals, patrol later, and when she has time to get over to the hospital.

Willow finishes complaining about the Wicca group just as they arrive at the door to their room.

“I’m sorry it was a bust,” Buffy says, unlocking the door. “I know you were looking to go further in that department.” She pushes open the door so Willow can head inside.

Pulling her messenger bag over her head, Willow drops it on her bed. “I’d just like to float something bigger than a pencil someday,” she says. She looks up at Buffy with a smile. “But, hey, what’s up with you and Riley?” She raises her eyebrows. “He seemed pretty eager to talk to you after class.”

Buffy puts her bag down on her desk chair. “Yeah,” she says, a little torn, “he was.”

Willow waits for more information, finally making a _go on_ motion with her hand when none is forthcoming.

“I don’t know,” Buffy says. “Every time we talk, I feel like we’re both lying. The slayer thing comes up one way or another, and he doesn’t know I know about the Initiative.” She sits down, beginning to undo the straps on her sandals.

“But you said he helped you, in the other world, right?” Willow asks. “Maybe you should just tell him that you know, come clean about everything.”

“That’s one option,” Buffy hedges.

Willow scrutinizes her for a minute. Then she asks lightly, “Are you not interested in him anymore?”

Sighing, Buffy says, “I’m _not_ not interested… I don’t know. I have a lot of balls in the air right now, and it’s not really a good time for me to be focused on dating.”

Willow nods like she understands perfectly. “Or maybe you’re just focused on someone else?”

Kicking off her sandals, Buffy comes over to Willow’s bed and clambers on across from her. She tucks her skirt into her lap so she can sit cross-legged. “I _am_ focused on Faith,” she admits. “I don’t know if it’s the way you’re thinking, but this is important to me.”

Reaching over, Willow puts her hand on Buffy’s. “You know you can talk to me about this, right?”

Her cheeks go a little warm, but Buffy meet Willow’s eyes. “Can I?” She asks. “I know she hurt you. She hurt Xander.”

“She did,” Willow agrees, “but I trust you. And if Faith really wants to be back on our side, I’ll try with her.”

“I’m not sure Xander will see it that way,” Buffy says. Not that she blames him, especially after seeing first hand what Faith did to him.

Willow shrugs, frowning a little. “Cross that bridge when you come to it,” she suggests. After a moment, she asks, “So, _is_ this a more than slay buddies thing?” Her voice is gentle, nonjudgmental.

Buffy shakes her head automatically, then stops. She shrugs instead. “Right now I’m just focused on getting her to trust me, and getting her to wake up. But later… I don’t know.”

Willow gives her a sympathetic look. “You should talk to Xander soon,” she suggests.

“I will,” Buffy agrees.

XXXXX

“You seem off,” Faith says, her feet propped on the table as she leans back in her chair. “Something up in the land of the living?”

Buffy waves a shushing hand in Faith’s direction. She’s standing in the center of the library, her eyes closed, deep in concentration. After a moment, she opens her eyes again, pleased to see her mom’s couch planted firmly in the middle of the library. “Ha!” She crows, gesturing at the couch. “I give you… comfiness.”

“Nice,” Faith says, getting up from the table and making her way over. Buffy manages to snag one cushion before Faith sprawls herself elaborately across the other two. “So, come on, what’s up with you?”

“I had a weird dream earlier today,” Buffy admits. “I told Giles about it, and he said he’d look into it. It just kind of feels urgent, I guess.”

“You have dreams weirder than this?” Faith asks skeptically.

Buffy smirks. “Sometimes.”

“You think it was a slayer thing?”

“Maybe.”

Faith sits up, letting her booted feet hit the floor again. “Show me,” she suggests.

“Oh,” Buffy says, suddenly hesitant, “I don’t know.” She hasn’t quite shared the full details of the dream with anyone, and there’s a reason for that.

“What else are we doing?” Faith asks. “Besides, you said you wanted us fighting together again.”

Faith’s good, Buffy will give her that. How can she say no, when it’s put like that? “Okay,” she says reluctantly.

Faith holds out her hand expectantly, and Buffy takes it. The two of them are transported to the lecture hall where Buffy’s psych class happens.

Professor Walsh stands in front of the room, wearing a lab coat with a name badge clipped to it. "It's about inspiration,” she says, mid lecture. “Not the idea, but the moment before the idea, when it blossoms in your mind and connects to everything.” She smiles at the intent faces before her. “It's about the thoughts and experiences that we don't have a word for.”

Buffy glances at Faith beside her, already dreading where this is going.

“Buffy Summers, come on down to the front here," Walsh says. Buffy watches herself get out of her seat and come down the stairs to join Walsh.

"Lie down on my desk," Walsh instructs.

Dream Buffy looks startled. “What?” She asks.

“Go ahead,” Walsh says. “You're perfectly safe."

Beside her, Faith snorts lightly. “Said every villain ever,” she says under her breath. Tilting her head toward Buffy, she asks, “What kind of class _is_ this?”

“Psych,” Buffy says, “sort of. She’s the psych teacher, but she’s also the head of a secret military demon hunting group.”

Faith takes this in stride. “Huh,” she remarks, watching as Dream Buffy hops up onto the desk and lies partially back, still propped up on her elbows.

"Riley,” Walsh says, “if you could oblige."

It’s not Riley who steps forward. “Sorry, Professor,” Dream Faith says, appearing at the door to the classroom, “Riley had to step out.” She strides in, casting a quick grin at the watching students before she looks at Buffy on the desk. One eyebrow rises in interest.

“Fine,” Walsh says, unconcerned. She waves Faith forward, gesturing toward Buffy on her desk. “A demonstration,” she prompts.

Buffy dares to look at real Faith from the corner of her eye. Her eyes have narrowed slightly, but she’s watching the scene unfold with interest.

Dream Faith approaches Buffy on the desk, smiling a little softer now that her back is to the class. “Hey, B,” she says, reaching out to brush Buffy’s hair off her forehead.

“This feels very strange,” Dream Buffy says, her face a little self conscious.

It’s pretty strange for Buffy too, watching this unfold with the real Faith standing next to her, not knowing what Faith will think of what’s about to happen.

Dream Faith’s hand slides into Buffy’s hair, and she leans in closer. “Nothing we haven’t done before,” she says, her voice low and teasing. “Don’t worry,” she adds, her other arm reaching across Buffy’s stomach. “If I kiss you, it’ll make the sun go down."

Dream Faith leans in, and Dream Buffy eagerly meets her in the middle, the two of them kissing softly at first, then with more gusto.

Buffy’s face is burning, and she looks anywhere but at herself and Faith, the two of them earnestly kissing on top of the desk as the light goes out in the room. Beside her, Faith doesn’t seem to share the same hesitance. She’s watching the two of them with an unreadable expression on her face.

The room becomes darker and darker until it’s just the two of them kissing, a spotlight shining on them on the desk.

“See?” Dream Faith prompts, when they finally come up for air.

"Fortune favors the brave," Dream Buffy answers, her mouth pink, hands still wrapped around both of Faith’s arms.

Buffy’s nerves are more on edge than ever. At least the dream is almost over. They all hear a soft voice in the hallway at the same time. Buffy and Faith follow behind their doppelgangers as they walk out of the room to investigate.

At the other end of the hall, a little girl stands in a red dress, holding a box. "Can't even shout,” she sings, “Can't even cry. The gentlemen are coming by.” Buffy only half hears the rest of her song, already having memorized the words and relayed them to Giles.

The grand finale is coming up anyway.

“You're gonna die screaming but you won't be heard," the child sings. Dream Faith disappears, to be replaced by a ghoul in a dark suit, with a grinning, silver mouth. He touches Dream Buffy’s back and she turns, getting a good look at him.

Then Buffy and Faith are back in the library.

Buffy doesn’t look at Faith right away, instead taking a moment to situate herself back on the couch. “So,” she says, trying not to sound as nervous as she feels, “that was the whole thing. I told Giles about the song and what the guy looked like at the end.”

Faith sits down on the opposite side of the couch, leg up so she’s facing Buffy. “That definitely seemed like a slayer dream,” she confirms, mercifully not addressing the elephant in the room. “Any idea what it means?”

“Not a clue,” Buffy says.

Faith nods. After a moment she says, “Probably something big and nasty headed your way.”

“So just your typical Tuesday?”

Faith half smiles at her joke. “Wish I could be out there with you, whatever it is.”

“Me too,” Buffy says. She turns, pulling one knee up onto the couch so she’s facing Faith, relaxing a little.

A moment later, Faith hops off the couch, moving toward Giles’s office. “What’s today?” She asks, as has become her new custom. At first Buffy wasn’t sure this was the best idea. Maybe it’s better for Faith to not know how much time is passing while she’s unconscious. But Faith seems to want to do it, and it seems to bring her some sense of calm to know exactly where on the calendar they are, so Buffy obliges her.

Faith picks up a marker from Giles’s desk, leaning over the large calendar sprawled across the top, already pulling the cap off.

“December 14th,” Buffy calls back, coming to the door.

Faith doesn’t immediately cross the day before off, as she usually does. Before Buffy’s eyes, her clothing shimmers, and she’s wearing a worn t-shirt and pajamas pants.

“You okay?” Buffy asks, confused.

Faith recovers herself, crossing through December 13th. “Yeah,” she says casually. She closes her eyes, and her clothing reverts to the jeans and tank top she was wearing a moment ago. She sets the marker back down and straightens up. “It’s my birthday.”

“Oh,” Buffy says, immediately feeling bad that she’s never known Faith’s birthday. “Happy birthday!”

Faith shrugs. “Thanks,” she says. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Sure it is,” Buffy says, stepping back out of the doorway as Faith comes toward her. She briefly wonders if she can conjure up a birthday cake and candles. She did get the couch to appear, but then again, the couch was a tangible object she could concentrate on. Still, there’s gotta be some way she can make Faith’s birthday special. “I have an idea,” she announces, coming up with something on the fly.

“You know,” Faith says dryly, “you don’t need to announce it every time.”

“Shut up,” Buffy says without any vitriol. She comes up behind Faith and propels her forward. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” Faith asks suspiciously, allowing herself to be directed toward the library door.

“It’s a surprise,” Buffy answers.

In the hallway, she stops pushing Faith and takes the lead. They walk down the dimly lit hallway, past the girls’ bathroom and to the main intersection of halls by the front entrance.

Faith grumbles all the while. “I don’t like surprises,” she says.

“We’re almost there,” Buffy answers, turning left down the hall.

Faith sighs but she keeps walking. Buffy leads her into the cafeteria.

“This _is_ a surprise,” Faith says sarcastically. “I’ve never seen a cafeteria before.”

Buffy ignores her, cutting through the room until she reaches the door that leads to the kitchen. She easily forces the locked handle down, opening the door and heading inside.

Following her, Faith leans in the doorway and crosses her arms. “Breaking and entering,” she says. “This always works out well for us.”

“Pretty sure we’re safe,” Buffy says back, having disappeared behind some tall kitchen racks, “given that we’re inside my head.”

“You’d be surprised,” Faith mutters. She waits there another minute, getting impatient. Just as she’s about go look for Buffy, Buffy pops out from between two racks with a giant cylindrical container.

She grins widely at Faith, turning and moving further into the kitchen so she can set her quarry down on the countertop. She pokes around the kitchen a little further until she finds silverware. “Are you coming in or not?” She asks, starting to work a knife under the edge of the container’s top.

Faith frowns but she pushes off the doorway and walks through the kitchen, joining Buffy just as she successfully pops the lid on the container.

Buffy picks up two mixing spoons and hands one to Faith. Then she pulls back the lid of the container, discarding it into the sink. She sinks her spoon in, coming back with a giant spoonful of chocolate pudding. She manages to get a good portion of it in her mouth at once, leaving a little chocolate in the corner of her lip.

Noticing Faith not joining her, Buffy waves her spoon at the pudding in invitation.

Faith shakes her head like she thinks Buffy’s nuts, but she dips her spoon in, and raises it to her lips. “Not bad,” she says after a moment.

“Happy Birthday,” Buffy says. “Sorry it’s not cake.”

Faith takes another spoonful, resting her hip against the counter. “I told you, it’s not a big deal.”

Looking at her curiously, Buffy asks, “Have you always been so anti-birthday?”

Faith shrugs, licking a little errant pudding from the corner of her mouth. “I guess I had a few good ones, when I was little.”

“Before your mom passed?” Buffy asks gently.

Faith looks uncomfortable with this line of questioning, but she answers. “Yeah, but birthdays weren’t good even before she died.”

Watching her, Buffy notices the new tension Faith’s got in her shoulders, the hard line of her lips. “You don’t have to tell me,” she says. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have pried.”

Faith looks at her then, her eyes more tired than anything else. “Something shitty happened on my birthday. Since then I just let it pass by. I don’t like thinking about it, that’s all.”

Now Buffy feels bad about their little field trip to the cafeteria. “Sorry,” she says sincerely. “I should have just dropped it.”

“Nah,” Faith says generously. “You didn’t know. You were just trying to be nice.” She toys with the empty spoon, rotating it around her fingers for a few seconds. Then she changes the subject, “This is pretty good, for school cafeteria food.”

Buffy snorts. “Plus we know there’s no rat poison in it.”

Spoon midway to her mouth, Faith pauses. “Do I want to know?”

“The lunch lady tried to kill the entire school with rat poison in the chili,” Buffy says.

Faith takes this in stride. “I guess that’s school on the Hellmouth for you.”

Buffy makes a sound of agreement. They two of them eat in companionable silence, putting a sizeable dent in the formidable container of pudding. Just as Buffy’s beginning to think she should call it quits before going into some kind of hyperglycemic shock, Faith lets out a deep sigh. “I don’t think I can eat anymore without my stomach bursting.”

“That would be bad,” Buffy agrees, feeling similarly defeated by the sheer quantity of pudding.

“You got a little pudding on your face,” Faith points out.

“Where?” Buffy asks, licking her lips.

Faith half smiles. “On the left.”

“Did I get it?”

“Nope.”

Buffy brings her hand to her mouth, quickly wiping her lips off.

Shaking her head again, Faith begins to smirk.

Leaning in a little closer to Faith, Buffy quickly brings her spoon up and taps Faith’s cheek. “Oh, look, you’ve got a little too,” she says innocently.

“Really?” Faith asks, wiping the pudding off her cheek. “Very mature.”

Buffy shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

Faith leans toward the sink, ostensibly to deposit her spoon in the basin, but at the last moment, she dips her finger in the pudding and gets Buffy right in the nose.

Buffy sputters indignantly, but wastes no time in sinking her entire hand into the remaining pudding and coming at Faith.

Catching her wrist, Faith says, “Come on, B. We’re even now.”

“I don’t think so,” Buffy says, grabbing Faith’s arm with her free hand.

The two of them grapple for a moment, until Faith’s elbow hits the pudding container and knocks it to the tile floor. Pudding sprays free from the point of impact. Buffy steps in it, sliding across the tile.

Faith’s still holding her arm and she tries to right her, accidentally stepping in the slippery mess her herself. They both go down, Buffy landing squarely on her ass, Faith half on top of her.

Faith tries to get up, her foot sliding out from under her again. She falls forward, and Buffy tries to catch her, getting pudding all over her shirt.

Faith looks down in horror, still partially crushing Buffy’s leg. “Did you get that in my hair?”

Making an apologetic face, Buffy says, “Let me see.” Then she brings her chocolate coated hand to Faith’s chin, pulling it gently sideways. “Hair’s good,” she announces cheerfully, letting her thumb rub some pudding into Faith’s lower lip.

Before Faith can launch any further complaints, Buffy leans in, bringing her mouth to Faith’s.

Faith immediately forgets what she was about to say. Goopy pudding is transferring from Buffy’s face to hers and vice versa. She brings her fingers up to tangle in Buffy’s hair, her tongue lapping lightly at Buffy’s lower lip until Buffy’s tongue comes out to meet hers. They both taste like chocolate. Buffy’s other hand goes to Faith’s hip, her fingertips running over the rough denim of Faith’s jeans.

Faith scoots closer on her knees, no longer concerned about getting off Buffy and out of the mess on the floor. Putting her hand on the small of Faith’s back, Buffy pulls her in closer as she tilts her head up to accommodate the change in position.

Swinging her knee over Buffy’s leg, Faith settles in her lap. Cold pudding seeps through the knees of her jeans. The coating on her hand is starting to dry, sticky in Buffy’s hair.

Buffy isn’t bothered. Both hands hold Faith’s hips, fingertips just barely touching her ass. They kiss slower now, their mouths no longer an extension of the play fighting they were engaging in moments before. Faith’s whole body is soft under her hands, relaxed. Part of Buffy wonders if she’s making a mistake, doing this right now. She’s been trying to gain Faith’s trust, to build a foundation with her for when she wakes up. What she told Willow is the truth. The possibility of anything more with Faith was supposed to be a question for later, when she’s awake. Then again, Buffy’s always been one to adapt her strategy if she needs to. Slayers have to be flexible. And this is obviously what they both want.

They break for air, faces streaked with dark brown confection. Both of them catch their breath for a moment, then Faith climbs off her, carefully this time. She manages to get her foot on a relatively clean piece of the floor, and reaches her hand down to help Buffy up.

Buffy accepts it, allowing herself to be hauled up. “Thanks,” she smiles. She walks carefully to the sink, pulling some paper towels free from the dispenser beside it. Running them under water, she hands half the bundle to Faith, then starts to clean her face off.

Faith mirrors her, carefully wiping her skin clean. After a moment, she says, “I kind of thought you were lying about the wanting me to kiss you thing, before.”

“Oh,” Buffy says, taken aback. She looks up then and sees Faith’s watching her intently, her eyebrows drawn together like she’s deep in thought. “I wasn’t,” Buffy clarifies.

“I guess not,” Faith says. She goes back to wiping her face.

“Is that…” Buffy starts, confused by Faith’s reaction. “Not good?”

Faith shakes her head immediately, dropping the soiled paper towel to the countertop. “I’m just processing,” she says, picking up another paper towel and trying to clean her shirt off.

“Okay,” Buffy says, hoping there’s more to follow that statement. She realizes she’s stopped cleaning herself off and resumes work while she waits.

Apparently finding her shirt hopeless, Faith gives up and drops the remaining paper towel into the discarded pile. “It’s just weird,” she says, not meeting Buffy’s eyes. “I’ve kissed you a thousand times. It’s always just my head, playing tricks on me.”

Buffy understands where she’s coming from. Faith seems to have been torturing herself in every way imaginable the entire time she’s been in a coma. She drops her paper towel beside Faith’s, then moves a little closer to where Faith’s standing.

Faith watches her approach, a little cautiously. She doesn’t lean away when Buffy comes to a stop in front of her. Buffy lays her right hand on the counter, where Faith can see it. Then she leans in. Her lips brush Faith’s softly, just barely a kiss, and then she pulls back, opening her eyes again. “It’s not a trick,” she says.

Faith swallows hard. She puts her hand on Buffy’s, letting her palm move up Buffy’s wrist to her forearm, then cup her elbow. She squeezes lightly, her eyes searching Buffy’s face for any signs of deception.

Buffy waits, giving her the time she needs to work this out.

After a moment, Faith seems to come to the same conclusion. The hand on Buffy’s arm steals around her back, and Faith pulls her into the small space remaining between them. Buffy’s expecting her to kiss her, but instead Faith hugs her, her face pressing into Buffy’s neck.

She puts both arms around Faith, her palms lightly stroking her back.

“This was a good birthday,” Faith says, at length, her voice slightly muffled by Buffy’s hair.

“I’m glad,” Buffy says. She can feel morning approaching. The kitchen is becoming less distinct around them, like overexposed film.

Faith feels it too. She relaxes her arms slightly, letting Buffy pull back enough to make eye contact.

“I’ll see you soon,” Buffy says.

“Yeah,” Faith agrees. She raises one hand to Buffy’s sticky hair, brushing it off her forehead. “Soon.”

XXXXX

It’s been two days of back-to-back demonic crises, and Buffy is exhausted. First the Gentlemen stole all of their voices, then demons tried to open the Hellmouth _again_. She hadn’t envisioned herself going back into Sunnydale High anytime soon, other than in her mind, but it seems the Hellmouth isn’t taking a vacation just because the building on top of it blew up. At least she managed to get it closed again, with a little help from her friendly neighborhood Initiative representative.

That’s a ball of wax for another day. Tonight, with the Hellmouth foiled again, and with Spike having offered to walk Willow back to the dorms in celebration of realizing he can hit demons, this seems as good a time as any to have the talk with Xander that she’s been putting off. If he finds it weird that she’s invited herself over to his place, he doesn’t say so. He cheerfully invites her to sit down and offers her something to drink.

Buffy accepts a can of Coke and pops the top. Sitting down next to her, Xander sighs audibly as his back hits the couch cushions. “Ahh,” he says, “and also oww.”

Buffy smiles. “I know the feeling.”

He gives her a pointed look. “I don’t think you’ve known the feeling in a few years now, Buff.”

“Touché,” Buffy agrees. “Need some ice?”

“Nah,” Xander waves her off. “I’ll be fine.” He sips from his can.

“Where’s Anya?” Buffy asks, looking around the basement.

Xander shrugs. “She does her own thing sometimes.”

“Usually when there’s going to be slaying,” Buffy says dryly.

“That’s my girl,” Xander agrees.

Buffy nods agreeably. She takes another sip of soda, twisting the can nervously in her hands. “You think this is serious, with you two?”

Xander gets a deer in headlights look.

“Wow,” Buffy says, amused.

“Uhh,” Xander says, sounding anxious, “it’s not _not_ serious.”

“So it’s serious.”

Xander shrugs helplessly. “I know she’s… unique.”

“She is,” Buffy says, trying to be supportive, “but unique can be good.”

He gives her a skeptical look.

Buffy tries to think about good qualities to list about Anya. “She knows a lot about demons!” She says. “And uhh, she makes Giles get that little frowny face a lot of the time—it really takes the pressure off me.”

Giving her a little smile, Xander says, “I know you guys don’t like her.”

“That’s not true,” Buffy protests. “She’s just…”

“A former vengeance demon who cursed who knows how many men to unimaginable torment,” Xander supplies. “I know.”

“I was going to say ‘a lot,’” Buffy says. “She’s not a vengeance demon anymore. No one’s holding that against her.” She looks at him earnestly. “People can change, right? Even ones who did terrible things? If they want to, I mean. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

Xander looks at her for a moment before the pieces appear to come together in his mind. “Are we talking about Anya or Faith?”

Buffy winces. “Will told you about that?”

“Not much,” Xander says loyally. “She just mentioned the potion her and Giles made to help you find Faith in your dreams.”

Buffy nods. “Sorry,” she says. “I should have told you sooner.” She looks at him with worried eyes. “I know she hurt you.”

“Me?” Xander laughs, but it sounds forced to her ears. “That was nothing!”

Buffy hesitates a second. “Angel told me what happened,” she says gently, leaving out that she also witnessed the scene herself, via Faith’s brain. She reaches across the couch and touches Xander’s hand. “I don’t want you to think I forgot or that I don’t care. I do.”

Xander nods, looking embarrassed. He swallows. “I know.”

“She wants to be back on the right side,” Buffy says softly. “I think I can help her do that.”

Xander processes for a moment. “She needed help,” he says. “I thought I could be that person for her.”

“I know,” Buffy says, her mouth turned down in sympathy.

“If she’ll let you be that person, then that’s good,” Xander says.

Buffy can’t quite get a read on what he’s thinking. “So it would be okay with you, if she wakes up and she stays in Sunnydale?”

“I’m not saying I’m going to throw the ‘welcome back from your coma’ party, or anything,” Xander hedges, “but I’ll deal.”

“Understood.”

“But be careful,” he adds.

“I will,” Buffy assures him.

Before she can say anything else, the door opens, and Anya steps in, blinking at them from the top of the stairs. She frowns immediately. “Why is your hand on Xander’s hand?” She demands. “He’s _my_ boyfriend.”

“Anya,” Xander groans, but Buffy smiles and retracts her hand.

“Purely platonic hand touching,” she says. “I swear.”

Anya doesn’t look convinced. She comes fully inside, taking her jacket off while keeping an eye on the two of them.

“Are we good?” Buffy asks Xander.

He smiles at her. “We’re good.”

Buffy beams back, standing up. “Thanks for the soda,” she says. “I gotta get home.”

“Good,” Anya says.

Ignoring her, Xander asks, “You sure? You don’t have to go.”

Buffy casts a sideways look at Anya who looks less than thrilled at the suggestion of Buffy’s continued presence in the basement. “I’m sure,” she says. “But let’s hang out tomorrow, when you’re off work?”

“Sounds good,” Xander agrees, standing up. He walks her the few feet to the stairs.

Knowing she’s risking Anya’s wrath, Buffy reaches up and wraps both arms around Xander’s neck. “You’re the best. You know that, right?”

“I try,” Xander jokes, hugging her back.

“Goodnight,” Buffy says, releasing Xander and beating a hasty retreat. Still, she can hear Anya’s muffled protest as the door closes behind her.

Buffy hits the sidewalk with a spring in her step. She feels more at ease than she has in weeks. Things are looking up. Willow and Xander are both open to giving Faith another chance. Christmas is just around the corner. And she’s on her way home to get a shower and go to sleep. In no time at all, she’ll be back in the library with Faith.

XXXXX

“How are you tonight, Ms. Faith?” Ruby asks, checking Faith’s vitals and carefully noting them in her chart.

She sets the chart down next to the formula she’s prepared. She double checks that she has all her supplies before nodding in satisfaction.

“Ready for dinner?” She asks pleasantly. This time, she happens to be looking at Faith’s face and she sees her eyes open.

Ruby startles, then gets ahold of herself. A moment later, Faith’s eyes slip closed. Moving the bed to a 45 degree angle, Ruby wrangles the blankets out of the way, untying the portion of the hospital gown covering Faith’s abdomen so she can access her feeding tube. Unplugging the end of the tube, Ruby hooks up the hose adaptor and starts the process of flushing the tube. She efficiently administers the prepared nutritional formula before flushing the tube again and reclamping it. Then she adjusts Faith’s gown and re-covers her.

This time she reaches for Faith’s hand, squeezing it gently before she says, “I’ll be back in a bit to check on you.”

Again, Faith’s eyes open, blinking uncomprehendingly for a moment before closing.

Ruby feels a smile overtaking her face. “That’s good, honey,” she says, patting Faith’s hand again. “Real good.” Ruby picks up the chart and makes a quick note. _15-Dec-1999:_ _Patient’s eyes opening to verbal command._ _Currently 7 on the Glasgow scale, up from 2 at the time of hospitalization, and 6 on 05-Dec-1999._ She adds a flag to the chart for a consult with neuro. It’s rare for one of the long-term patients to show improvement, but Ruby has a good feeling about this one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts and/or comments always appreciated! :) Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

_Ruby feels a smile overtaking her face. “That’s good, honey,” she says, patting Faith’s hand again. “Real good.” Ruby picks up the chart and makes a quick note. 16-Dec-1999: Patient eye opening to verbal command._ Currently 7 on the Glasgow scale, up from 2 at the time of hospitalization, and 6 on 05-Dec-1999. _She adds a flag to the chart for a consult with neuro. It’s rare for one of the long term patients to show improvement, but Ruby has a good feeling about this one._

Chapter Five

Buffy finishes stashing the last of her weapons in the large duffel she’s taking home with her for winter break. She was expecting Willow back by now. She borrowed her mom’s Jeep to get them and their bags back to their parents’ houses. Willow’s suitcase sits open and partially packed on her bed, but she hasn’t been back to their room in a few hours. Deciding she has time to get a snack, Buffy leaves a quick note for Willow and grabs her purse, heading out the door. She makes her way toward the dining hall, passing students and parents hauling suitcases and backpacks out to their waiting cars.

She steps into the waning sun, cutting across the lawn in front of Stevenson Hall. She’s passing the library en route to Rocket Café when she sees Graham coming in the opposite direction. She instinctively raises her hand in a wave before catching herself and pulling her hand down. She’s never met Graham in this world, although there’s a good chance she might at some point now that Riley knows she’s the slayer. She averts her eyes, pretending to be fishing for something in her purse as they pass one another. Once she passes Graham, Buffy looks back up, just in time to almost plow into Willow.

“Will!” She greets, reaching out to steady her friend. “There you are!”

“Buffy, hi!” Willow greets her nervously. She glances at the woman she’s walking with, drawing Buffy’s eyes in that direction.

“Hey, Tara,” Buffy says automatically, before she catches her mistake. “I mean, umm, you must be Tara?” She looks at Willow. “I’ve heard so much about you?”

Willow looks completely mystified since she’s never told Buffy a single thing about Tara but she covers for her quickly. “Oh, yep,” she agrees. “Good memory, Buffy.” She smiles at Tara then gestures at Buffy. “This is Buffy.”

“N-nice to meet you,” Tara says, smiling shyly.

“We were just on our way back to the dorm,” Willow says.

“Cool,” Buffy says. “Do you still wanna head out in like an hour?”

Nodding, Willow agrees, “Yeah, I’m almost packed. Where are you headed?”

“Pre-dinner snack,” Buffy says, gesturing behind them toward the café. “See you in a few?”

Willow nods.

“Nice to meet you, Tara,” Buffy says, smiling broadly at Willow’s new friend.

Tara nods shyly, partially hidden behind her hair, and the group separates, with Buffy continuing on toward the café. She glances back over her shoulder at Willow and Tara, a little smile on her face. This is an interesting development. Buffy can hardly wait to get Willow alone later and pump her for information.

XXXXX

“You’re sure you don’t mind coming with me?” Buffy asks for the third time, as she brakes too sharply at the red light ahead of them.

Willow winces, holding on to the hand rest in her door. “I don’t mind.” To take her mind off the sense of impending doom she’s felt since Buffy got behind the wheel of the car, Willow reaches into the backseat and picks up the bag Buffy’s stashed on the floor. “So, what are we bringing?” She settles the bag in her lap, unzipping it.

“I thought we could make her room a little festive,” Buffy says.

Inside the bag is a miniature Christmas tree, complete with tiny lights and a box of small ornaments. A new box of garland is nestled behind that. Several pairs of Christmas socks round out the collection. “Sounds good,” Willow says.

“So, Tara’s the girl you mentioned from your Wicca group?” Buffy asks, her voice deliberately casual.

“Yep,” Willow replies. “How did you know her name earlier?”

Buffy signals a turn, cutting in a little too close to the parked cars for comfort. “Tara was in the other Sunnydale,” she answers. “She’s really powerful. Definitely saved my bacon when we took on the Master.”

Pleased, Willow smiles. “She came looking for me when the Gentlemen were here. She wanted to try a spell to see if we could bring people’s voices back. We moved a soda machine.”

Buffy glances at her, waiting for more.

“It was a big machine,” Willow stresses. “What kind of stuff did she do in the other world?”

Buffy thinks. “Mostly defensive spells, I think. She made some kind of force field that kept the vampires back when we were fighting the Master. It was really hot.” Buffy laughs awkwardly. “Temperature wise, I mean. It burned them.”

“Huh,” Willow says, wracking her brain for what spell could do that. “That sounds really advanced.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agrees, as she turns into the hospital parking lot.

“She’s been practicing since she was little,” Willow says. “Her mom was a witch too.”

“Like Amy.”

“Yeah,” Willow agrees, “except less with the crazy trying to steal her daughter’s life stuff.”

“Always a plus,” Buffy says, pulling into a parking spot. The Jeep comes to a hard stop as the front tires nudge the parking block.

The two of them get out of the car, Buffy taking the bag of supplies from Willow and slinging it over her shoulder with ease.

Willow feels a little nervous as they approach Faith’s ward. She’s not sure what to expect. Logically she knows Faith is unconscious, so this should be a low-pressure situation, but she’s not sure what they’re supposed to do. Should she talk to Faith? What kind of things do you talk about with someone in a coma?

“Breathe, Will,” Buffy says softly, as they pass through the doors to the long-term care ward.

“I’m breathing,” Willow says, “mostly.”

They pass the nurse’s station, and the woman seated behind the counter beams at them both. “Hi, Buffy!”

“Hi, Jeanine,” Buffy greets with a smile. “This is my friend Willow.”

Willow waves at the nurse shyly, wondering how often Buffy’s been coming here to have gotten on a first name basis with the nursing staff.

In Faith’s room, Buffy sets the bag down on the chair, then reaches over the side of the bed to take Faith’s hand. “Hey, Faith,” she says in a soft voice. “I’m back, and I brought Willow with me.”

Buffy looks at her expectantly, so Willow comes closer, stopping at the opposite side of the bed. “Hi, Faith,” she says, awkwardly.

Buffy seems to get it and she doesn’t prompt Willow to say anything else. Instead, she turns to unzip the bag. “We brought you some Christmas decorations,” she tells Faith, wrestling the tree out of the bag.

“Where should we put it?” Willow asks, looking around for an empty space.

Buffy considers, then gestures to the wide ledge below the window. “Let’s put it here,” she suggests. “There’s a plug.”

Nodding in agreement, Willow helps Buffy set the little tree up and fluff its branches.

“So, you and Tara,” Buffy says, as they work on the branches. “It’s a friend thing?”

Willow glances at Faith quickly as though scandalized.

“I think your secret’s safe with us,” Buffy assures her.

“It’s a friend thing,” Willow says, not feeling completely sure. Tara’s really cool, and they’ve hung out a few times, trying different spells and talking. “I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, I get kind of nervous around her?” Willow supplies, feeling a little nervous now just talking about this. “Like I used to… with Oz.”

Buffy smiles at her. “So, good nervous.”

“I guess so,” Willow agrees.

Buffy steps back from the tree, studying their handiwork. “Well, you don’t have to know now,” she says. “Is she going home for break?”

“No,” Willow says, “she’s staying on campus.”

“You going to see her over break?” Buffy asks, plugging in the tree. Its branches light up, blinking off and on in a rainbow of different colors.

Retrieving the box of tiny ornaments, Willow nods. “Yeah, that’s the plan.” She opens the box and holds it out to Buffy.

Plucking two ornaments free, Buffy says, “I think that’s great, whatever it is. Tara’s awesome.”

Willow takes two as well, setting the box down. She looks for the perfect place on the tree to put her first ornament. “She is.”

“You deserve to be happy,” Buffy says kindly, attaching the tiny snowflake and red ball to the tree.

Willow glances past her to where Faith lies motionless in bed. “So do you,” she says.

“I’m working on it,” Buffy says, her cheeks a little pinker than usual.

Between the two of them, they make quick work of the Christmas tree. Its blinking casts cheerful shadows around Faith’s room.

“I’m thinking the garland can go around the top of her bed,” Buffy suggests, and the two of them stand on opposite sides, taking care not to tangle any of the many wires and machines monitoring Faith.

“It looks good,” Willow says, as they take a step back. “Very festive. This Jewish gal approves.”

Buffy laughs. “Thanks for helping me with this, Will.”

“Of course,” Willow agrees. She looks in the bag they brought. “Looks like all that’s left is socks.”

Buffy comes around the bed, reaching into the bag for a red pair with reindeers on them. She untucks the blanket from the end of Faith’s bed and perches on the edge of the mattress. Efficiently removing the white socks currently covering Faith’s feet, she begins gently pulling the red pair on.

It feels strangely intimate, and Willow looks away, pretending to examine the Christmas tree.

“Sorry,” Buffy says, picking up on Willow’s awkward vibe. “The nurses showed me some stuff to do for her… massaging her hands, brushing her hair, that kind of stuff. I guess it’s a little weird.”

“No,” Willow says, although truthfully she does find it a little weird, “it’s sweet.”

Buffy fidgets, looking at Faith’s face for a second. “It gives me something to do other than keep babbling on.”

Willow comes closer and puts her hand on Buffy’s shoulder, squeezing. “I get it,” she says. “Actually, I brought a book with me. I thought she might like that.” She looks at Faith uncertainly.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Buffy says, seeming pleased.

Willow goes to her bag and emerges with a well-loved copy of one of her favorite books. She takes the bedside chair for herself and opens the book gently. “Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun,” she reads. “Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-two million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.”

Buffy smiles, repositioning herself a little further up on Faith’s bed and taking her hand as she listens to Willow read.

XXXXX

Faith walks down the highway, cracked cement so hot under her feet that she starts to wonder if the soles of her shoes are going to melt. In every direction, the desert stretches out, barren and brown. She’s been walking for what feels like forever, her head starting to ache from squinting into the sun. Another quarter mile or so ahead, she can see the road forks in two directions, and she’s already beginning to feel anxious about which way to go. Neither of them looks particularly hospitable, from what she can see so far.

By the time she arrives at the intersection, she can see that each road has a small wooden roadside stand. Faith squints at the one on the left. It’s painted a faded white, and wooden wind chimes of various sizes hang from the rafters. On the counter top she sees carved mallards and a sign reading ‘Papa’s Porch.’ Faith doesn’t see anyone inside the little stand and she frowns in confusion. She walks back a few steps, then peers down the other road.

This stand is natural wood, a little weathered from its time in the desert. A basket of flowers hangs from one side. ‘Sweet Bea’s Honey’ the hand-lettered sign reads in curlicues. Jars with golden honey adorn the counter tops, and further back in the stand she can see various other packages and bottles.

Again, Faith sees no one at the stand and takes a few steps back.

“Tough choice, huh?” A voice asks beside her.

Faith looks over to see an olive skinned woman with dark hair. She looks familiar, but Faith can’t immediately place her. “I guess,” she says.

The woman wears a wide brimmed hat and carries one of those spray bottles with the little fans attached. She aims it at herself and spritzes. “I hope you’ll choose soon,” she says. “I didn’t know it would be so hot here.”

“What am I choosing?” Faith asks. “Honey or wind chimes? What do I need this stuff for?”

“Beats me,” the woman says. “It’s your brain.”

Faith looks at her again. “I know you, don’t I?”

“In a way,” the woman says, spritzing herself again. “You want one?” When Faith nods, she sprays her as well. “You know me,” she clarifies, “like you know yourself. Like you know all of us.”

“You’re a slayer,” Faith concludes.

“I was,” the woman agrees. “And, man, I thought the afterlife would be a little more relaxing, but read the fine print on that contract, I guess. Once you die you still gotta make guest appearances.”

“I’m sorry,” Faith says, “I don’t remember your name.”

“Tsk,” the woman says, spraying her with the fan. “Wait’ll I tell Diana you’ve been slacking on your studies.”

Faith gives her a long-suffering look.

The woman sighs dramatically, then plucks her hat off. She holds it to the side, affecting a deep bow. “India Cohen,” she says, “about, what is it now… three slayers before you.”

“You were the one before Buffy.”

India nods, plopping her hat back on. “A great slayer, our Buffy. And sweet Kendra, as well. Then there was you.”

Faith bristles a little at her tone.

“Oh, what?” India asks, exasperated. “You want a pat on the back? You tried to bring about the apocalypse.”

“I also tried to stop it!”

“Once you were in a coma,” India points out, “but fine. A cookie for you.” She bounces on her heels for a moment, looking uncomfortably warm. Then she sets off down the road to the left.

“Where are you going?” Faith asks, alarmed.

India doesn’t turn around. “To go look at this little shop,” she says. “What does it look like?”

Faith hesitates a moment, then follows her. When the two of them arrive at the front of the stand, there’s no one in sight. Up close, she sees other assorted wood items. Doorstops in the shape of bears, carved fish attached to wall plaques that read _World’s Best Fisherman_ , shadow boxes with little families of beavers in them, engraved with the beaver family’s surname. Faith looks around uneasily.

Before she can stop her, India spots a bell on the counter and depresses it, making a loud _ding!_ ring through the desert.

A door at the back of the shop that she hadn’t noticed before swings open, and the purveyor steps through, wearing khaki pants and a fishing vest over a button down dress shirt.

“Can I help you folks?” Mayor Richard Wilkins asks, a grin splitting his face. He looks at India a beat, then turns his gaze on Faith. “Hey! There’s my Faith! I was wondering when you’d get here.”

“Hey, boss,” Faith says, a little uncomfortably, her eyes cutting to India.

The mayor tracks that movement and gives her an understanding look. “I know,” he says, “don’t want your old dad embarrassing you in front of your new friend.” He waves his hand. “You take a look around, let me know what you like.”

Faith glances at the various wooden creatures. There’s not a single thing here that she would buy. But she doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Sure,” she agrees.

India seems to have grown bored and has wandered a few feet back up the road, heading to the intersection. Faith turns to follow her.

“Faith?” The Mayor calls from behind her.

“Yeah?” Faith turns back.

“I have a job for you later,” he says. “Something important. Can I count on you?”

As he finishes speaking, her eyes land on a carving she hasn’t noticed before. It’s a long and intricately carved snake, with gleaming black eyes. It’s coiled around itself, fangs just barely bared.

“Faith?”

Faith looks up and nods quickly.

“That’s my girl,” the Mayor says with a smile.

Faith turns and walks after India, feeling unsettled.

India waits for her at the fork, fanning herself dramatically. “Finally,” she says, “I thought you were gonna be stuck talking to your dad all day.”

“He’s not my dad,” Faith clarifies. “Not really.”

India shrugs this off, starting to walk in the direction of the other stand.

Once again it’s empty when they arrive. Faith looks more closely at the wares for sale. There’s soap, candy, jars of honey, dishtowels with honeycombs embroidered on them. On the countertop little samples of cake sit next to an open jar with a swizzle stick in it.

“Oooh,” India says excitedly, “free samples!” She plucks a piece of cake up in her fingers then drizzles a bit of honey over it. She pops it in her mouth, but Faith decides to wait and observe her reaction. Knowing her brain, the cake is probably poisoned. Best to wait and see if it kills India or turns her into a zombie or something.

India makes an _mmmmm_ sound, rolling her eyes back dramatically. “That is so good,” she practically moans.

“Thank you,” comes a voice from inside the stand.

Buffy stands behind the counter, wearing a white sundress. Her hair is held back by a yellow headband with little bee antenna on it. “I made it myself,” she says, smirking at her own joke.

“Do you have like a honey of the month subscription box I could sign up for?” India asks, producing a credit card from within the pocket of her jeans.

“You’re dead,” Faith points out very helpfully.

India huffs and picks up a second piece of cake, applying honey liberally to it.

“Something feels strange about this,” Faith says to India, frowning. “You don’t feel that?”

India considers this a moment then, shrugs. “No,” she says, “that sounds like perfectly normal paranoia. Everyone in the Universe has that.”

Buffy dresses another piece of cake and holds it out to Faith with a wide smile. “Eat,” she says. “You need your strength.”

Faith accepts the piece, eyeing it another moment before she pops it in her mouth. It _is_ delicious, probably the best thing she’s ever eaten. As she’s swallowing the last bite, she hears a dripping sound—liquid hitting hard packed desert floor.

She looks down to see the hilt of her knife poking from her stomach, blood dripping freely to her feet.

“I told you this wasn’t right,” Faith says, her eyes widening as she starts to feel the pain of the knife in her body.

India rolls her eyes and grasps the hilt of the knife. She pulls it free, as Faith curses loudly. Then she throws it away. “You’re thinking about this so literally,” she says.

“How else do you think about a knife in your gut?” Faith asks through gritted teeth.

“What knife?” India asks impatiently.

When Faith looks back down, her shirt is intact. There’s no blood in sight.

She glances past India at Buffy, who’s dusting the tops of her honey jars thoroughly. She notices Faith looking at her and looks up. “Giles wants us to come by tonight,” she says. “He’s got a lead on those demons we saw last night.”

“Sure,” Faith says, “tonight.”

Buffy beams at her.

Turning to India, Faith asks, “What’s the figurative?”

“Huh?”

“You said I’m being too literal. So what’s the figurative?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” India asks, sounding exasperated. “Two paths, two choices. The father figure who made you feel special but got you to do his dirty work. The girl you’re obsessed with, except she also stabbed you that one time. Which way do you go now?”

“I’m picking Buffy or the Boss,” Faith says, frowning.

India sprays her directly in the face. “No, you idiot.”

“Hey!”

“It’s not about them. Honey Bunny. Darth Papa. They don’t matter. It’s you. It’s who you are with them. Who you can be.” India turns the fan on herself. “Fuck, it’s hot. Do you get what I’m saying? Good or evil? Help or hurt? Sox or Yankees? It’s your choice.”

“Sox, obviously,” Faith says. “And I’m not obsessed with Buffy.”

“Look,” India says, “don’t tell me. It’s your head.” She points back the way they came.

Faith is displeased to see a large projector screen set up in the desert, with a home movie playing across it. Larger than life, Buffy and Faith grasp each other, kissing eagerly as their hands work their way under shirts and beneath waistbands. Faith is familiar with this particular scene. It’s the one that most often plays out before Buffy stabs her unexpectedly in the gut. She turns away, shaking her head.

“ _Me-ow_ ,” India says, still watching the screen. “You’ve got some moves.”

Reaching over, Faith covers India’s eyes with her palm and rotates her so they both have their backs to the screen.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” India teases her, “you’re not the only one after all.”

“What’s that mean?”

India points down at Faith’s feet, which are now clad in red socks with flying reindeer on them. “Just that the proof is in the pudding.” She elbows Faith in the ribs. “Get it? Pudding?”

Faith sighs loudly.

“Ugh,” India complains. “You’re so grumpy when you’re in a coma.” She looks at the watch on her wrist. “Are you getting this yet?”

“I think so,” Faith says.

“Good,” India says. “Then my work here is done.”

A door appears directly in front of them, looking out of place in the desert. A large sign is mounted to the door and in all capitals it reads, “BEWARE THE LEOPARD.”

Faith looks at this in alarm. “You sure you should go through that?”

“Don’t worry about me, baby sister,” India says, stepping forward. “I’ve faced worse than leopards.” She grasps the doorknob in her hand. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

When she opens the door, the light is so bright that Faith has to shield her eyes with her hands. When she can open them again, the door is gone, and she’s standing in the same place, between the two stands.

She sighs, walking back to the honey stand. “How much to buy the whole cake?” She asks.

“Ah,” Buffy says with a mischievous smile, “the answer to the great question... of life, the universe, and everything...”

“Or just to the price of the cake,” Faith says in a grumpy voice.

“$42,” Buffy says with a smile.

XXXXX

Buffy finger-walks her way through the supernatural genre of the card catalog, thinking to herself that only in Sunnydale would a high school library have a section on the supernatural. She needs a new book to check out to Faith. She picks through and discards a few options before coming upon one she hasn’t heard of before. She plucks the card free, walking to that section of the stacks and unearthing it from the shelf. It’s a worn copy, the spine cracked in a few places. She traces the title of the book with her finger lightly. _Carmilla_. This’ll do.

She takes the book to the counter then goes through the process of checking the book out to Faith and fudging the date so it’s now overdue. Then she takes the book with her to the couch and sits down, curling her legs underneath her and opening to the first page.

Buffy doesn’t get too far into the book before Faith strides into the library, holding a bright pink overdue notice in her hand. “What am I reading now?” Faith asks, crumpling the notice into a little ball and effortlessly tossing it in the wastebasket she passes on her way to the couch. She sits down close to Buffy’s leg, craning her neck to check out the book.

“Lesbian vampire preys upon helpless teenage girl,” Buffy summarizes. “Very relatable.”

“A regular coming of age story,” Faith says. “Is it any good?”

“I don’t know yet,” Buffy says, closing the book. “I only read like two pages before you got here.”

“Didn’t know you had such an interest in sapphic works, B,” Faith says, blinking innocently at her. She settles her hand on Buffy’s thigh lightly.

Buffy manages to keep a straight face, shrugging. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, _F_.”

“Hmm,” Faith says.

“Speaking of people joining Sappho’s book club,” Buffy says with a sparkle in her eyes, “Willow’s started hanging out with a girl she met in her Wicca group. I think there might be sparkage.”

Faith’s brows go up in surprise. “Oz is no more?”

“Oh,” Buffy says, realizing she hasn’t filled Faith in on that little detail. “Oz was having a hard time dealing with wolf stuff and he left town.”

“Tough break,” Faith says.

Buffy nods. “Willow’s had a hard time. We all have, actually,” she adds. “There was a spell incident.”

“She float the wrong person’s pencil?” Faith smirks.

“She’s been doing more magic,” Buffy says. “She did a spell that went wrong, but so spectacularly wrong that it got the attention of a vengeance demon. He tried to force her to become one of them.”

“Good thing her best friend is a slayer,” Faith says, not sounding overly interested in this story.

Buffy hedges. “Well, I wasn’t exactly here to make with the slaying. I sort of got sent on a vacation to another dimension.”

That gets Faith’s attention. “You went to another dimension?” She asks. “Like, a hell dimension?”

“No,” Buffy says, “it was kind of similar to this dimension. In that world, I wasn’t send to Sunnydale, and the Master,” Buffy pauses, unsure if she’s mentioned the Master to Faith before, “he was the vampire that killed me, so Kendra was called.”

“Right,” Faith says.

“The Master was free and using the town as an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

“So where was the other you?”

“She eventually went to Sunnydale, but he killed her.” Buffy gives her a small smile. “Then you were called.”

“Me?” Faith asks, surprised.

Buffy smiles, nodding. “Yeah, the other you is the slayer there. Your watcher is there too.”

Faith takes that in, swallowing after a moment. “You met her?”

“I did,” Buffy says. She sets the book down on the arm of the couch and reaches over, putting her hand on top of Faith’s. “She’s great. I could tell how much she cared about the other Faith.”

“That’s good,” Faith says, her voice quiet. “I’m glad she’s still alive somewhere. She was…” She trails off, looking down when Buffy squeezes her hand. “Anybody else we know?”

“Giles was there too,” Buffy says, then grimaces. “Willow and Xander were dead, but some people from school were there, plus Tara, the girl Willow just met here. We all went after the Master together.” She fills Faith in on their siege of the Master’s factory and his subsequent staking.

Faith laughs.

“What?”

“Only you would get sent to another dimension and decide you need a re-match with the vamp that killed you while you’re there.”

“I had help!” Buffy says defensively. “I couldn’t just leave with him still alive and eating the good people of Sunnydale.”

“I guess not,” Faith agrees. “That’s why you’re the good slayer.”

Buffy rolls her eyes.

“What?” Faith asks. She pokes Buffy lightly in the thigh. “You are.”

“Whatever,” Buffy says.

“How was the other me?” Faith asks.

Buffy considers for a moment, wondering how much she should tell Faith about what happened in the other world. “She was great,” she says. “Tough as nails, smart, funny. A lot like you.”

That seems to take Faith by surprise. “So you guys were at each other’s throats immediately then?”

_Maybe in the literal sense,_ Buffy thinks, fighting the urge to laugh. She shakes her head. “No, we got along really well.” She gives Faith a look that’s a little shy. “It was good, slaying with you again. Being on the same side.”

“I can see that,” Faith says. “I miss that… slaying together.”

“Me too,” Buffy agrees. Now’s the time to tell Faith the rest of it. If she doesn’t tell her now, she’ll never be able to tell her. You can’t start any kind of relationship with someone, whether that’s friendship or more, with dishonesty. She knows that, but still… how can she tell Faith about this?

Faith seems to realize there’s something Buffy’s leaving out. “What?” She probes. “What’s that face?”

Buffy’s still hesitant. It’s incredibly weird to admit to Faith that she and the other version of Faith had been together. There’s no way of knowing how Faith will react to this news, but doesn’t she deserve to hear the truth? Buffy decides to just blurt it out. “We, umm, we slept together.”

Faith doesn’t outwardly react, but Buffy can pinpoint the exact moment in which she completely closes herself off. She’s stone still, only an uptick in her heartbeat letting Buffy know she even heard her. After a moment, she says, “You said you were only there a few days.”

“Yeah,” Buffy says, her face coloring in embarrassment. Funny how real that feels, even in a dream.

“And you fucked her,” Faith says, her voice flat. She pulls her hand away from Buffy’s.

Buffy winces at her phrasing.

Faith gets up from the couch, walking several feet away so she’s standing close to Giles’s office door. Buffy watches her back anxiously. After a moment, Faith laughs bitterly.

Getting up, Buffy approaches her slowly. “Faith,” she says cautiously, when she’s close to her back.

Faith turns around to look at her. “I’m fine,” she says, although she’s clearly upset. “So that’s what it took to get you to give a shit about me. That’s why you really did all this.” She gestures to the library around them. A red stain is spreading over her shirt, from exactly the spot where Buffy stabbed her on the roof.

That hurts. “You know that’s not true,” Buffy protests.

“You should have said something sooner, B,” Faith says, her eyes shining angrily. “I could’ve given you a good tumble a long time ago.”

Buffy’s cheeks flush indignantly. She wasn’t sure how this conversation would go, but this is basically the worst possible outcome. “Stop,” she says, hurt clear in her voice. She takes a step back from Faith.

Faith follows her, catching her wrist. “Why?” She asks, her voice rough. “It’s true. I wanted to, you already know that.” Her fingers dig into Buffy’s wrist a little too hard. “I never thought you’d be down though. Little Miss Perfect. You wanna have a go now?”

Buffy winces but she doesn’t pull away. “Let go of my arm.”

Faith ignores her, instead yanking Buffy in closer to her, so they’re pressed together. Her other hand winds around Buffy’s waist, holding her against her. “Come on,” she says, her voice hard, “show me how you fucked her, while you left me rotting in a fucking coma for months.” Her face is close to Buffy’s, and the library fades out for a moment. They’re in the mansion, Buffy’s hands chained to the wall behind her, Faith leaning in dangerously, a dagger clenched in her hand.

“Stop,” Buffy says again, her voice louder, concentrating on where they should be standing in the library.

“Make me,” Faith says, her teeth shining sharply from between red lips.

Yanking her trapped arm downward, Buffy uses her other hand to shove Faith away.

Faith stumbles back, but rights herself before falling. She smiles grimly, breathing hard.

Buffy blinks, her eyes burning. Before she can say anything, Faith walks past her and out the double doors to the library, disappearing from her view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the moments we've been waiting for... Faith finds out about the other world. Thoughts and comments always appreciated. :)
> 
> All credit to Douglas Adams for the quotes I borrowed from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some descriptions of various medical things in this chapter (tubes, catheters, IVs, blood), so fair warning. I don't think it's especially graphic.

_Buffy yanks her trapped arm downward, using her other hand to shove Faith away from her._

_Faith stumbles back, but rights herself before falling. She smiles grimly, breathing hard._

_Buffy blinks, her eyes burning. Before she can say anything, Faith walks past her and out the double doors to the library, disappearing from her view._

Chapter Six

The ice pack smarts when she presses it against the bruise below her mouth, and Faith mutters a curse under her breath, resisting the urge to kick something. She keeps the ice in place, making her way around the crappy motel dresser to the side of her bed. She sits, carefully arranging herself to keep less pressure on her bruised places. Last night was the first time she’s found herself on the receiving end of the full extent of Buffy’s slayer strength, and she’s gotta say, it fucking sucks. Every part of her body is sore. She flips on the TV, finding a black and white episode of some old cop show. She leaves it on for background noise, starting to flip through a magazine.

She can sense Buffy coming before the knock sounds at the door. She briefly debates pretending not to be home, but Buffy can definitely feel her as well, so there’s probably no point. “Come in,” she calls, lowering the ice pack with a sigh.

The door creaks open, and Buffy looks in, finding her seated on the bed before she comes all the way inside. “Hey,” she says. She looks around a moment. “The place looks nice.”

Faith’s seen Buffy’s room, so she knows this is a dump in comparison. “Yeah,” she says dryly. “It's real Spartan.”

Buffy drifts a little closer. “How are you?”

Faith shrugs, managing to contain her subsequent wince. “Five by five.”

“I'll interpret that as good,” Buffy says. When Faith doesn’t respond, Buffy gets that serious expression she puts on for heart to hearts. “Look, Gwendolyn Post, or whoever she was, had us all fooled. Even Giles.”

“Yeah, well, you can't trust people. I should've learned that by now.” Faith flips through the magazine like she’s unconcerned, but in reality just the mention of that woman’s name makes her blood boil.

Buffy comes closer still, as if she’s trying to will Faith to look at her. “I realize this is gonna sound funny coming from someone that just spent a lot of time kicking your face, but you can trust me.”

That does make Faith look up. “Is that right?” She puts the magazine down. She can’t wait to hear Buffy spin this, after she’s spent who knows how long lying to Faith’s face about her vampire boy toy.

“I know I kept secrets,” Buffy admits, “but I didn't have a choice. I'm on your side.”

“ _I’m_ on my side,” Faith emphasizes, “and that's enough.”

Buffy looks wounded. “Not always,” she says quietly. She hesitates another moment, standing at the end of Faith’s bed, then she sets her purse down on Faith’s dresser.

Faith watches this neutrally. She hasn’t invited Buffy to stay, but she also doesn’t really want her to leave.

Buffy walks up to Faith’s side and sits down on the edge of the bed, close enough that her hip is touching Faith’s thigh. “I’m sorry,” she says earnestly. She raises one hand, chipped nail polish shiny in the dim overhead lighting, and brushes Faith’s bruise with her fingertips.

Her heart is pounding too hard in her chest, and Buffy can probably hear it. “It’ll heal,” Faith says.

“Everything does,” Buffy agrees. “Doesn’t mean it hurts less.” She leans in closer still, her fingertips gliding away from the bruise, over Faith’s cheek, until they tuck under her jaw.

Then Buffy’s leaning in, and Faith’s leaning forward, and she forgets to be mindful of all her sore places because they’re kissing. Buffy tastes like vanilla and mint and she makes a particularly pleasing squeak when Faith reaches over, grasps her waist, and drags her into her lap.

Buffy fits into her arms like she was meant to be there. Faith’s hands run up and down her back, squeezing her shoulders, her hips, slipping gently under her hair. Buffy does the same, as though she can’t wait to touch every inch of Faith.

When Buffy pulls back for a moment, she touches the bruise on Faith’s face again lightly. “Sorry,” she says, “I forgot to be gentle.”

“You don’t have to be gentle with me.”

“Yeah, I do,” Buffy says, almost tenderly. She brushes Faith’s hair over her shoulder, her nails tickling Faith’s neck. “You’re a delicate little flower.”

“Look who’s talking,” Faith says, looking pointedly at the corner of Buffy’s eye. She’s surprised to see the bruise that was there just a few moments ago is completely gone.

“Slayer healing,” Buffy says, shrugging.

“I have that, too,” Faith says, confused.

“Sure,” a new voice says, “yours just isn’t as good.”

Faith looks up to find another version of herself standing at the foot of the bed. Her makeup is impeccable. Her hair looks like she’s just stepped out of a shampoo commercial. “Hey, baby,” new Faith says, and Buffy gets up, going to her side. They greet each other with a kiss, new Faith’s lipstick not even smudged when she turns back to Faith still sitting dumbfounded on the bed.

“What the fuck,” Faith says.

New Faith gives her a sympathetic look. “Sorry,” she says, “you’re just not good enough for her.”

“Don’t be mean,” Buffy scolds, with no real malice in her tone.

Faith gets up before she knows what she’s doing. “That’s not true,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Sure it is,” new Faith says, sounding bored. “Look at her. Look at _you_.” She looks pointedly around Faith’s motel room. “What would she ever see in you? Why would she ever want you, when she could have me?” New Faith smirks. “Face it. You’re a fuck up.”

That does it. “Shut up,” Faith says in a dangerously low voice, coming around the side of the bed.

New Faith runs her hand possessively down Buffy’s side. “Why?” She asks, sounding bored. “You’re nothing. A nobody. You always have been, and that’s before you were a killer.”

Faith tackles the other her, knocking her into the dresser. The two of them tumble into the door, then land on the floor, grappling for the upper hand.

If Buffy protests, Faith can’t hear her. She can’t see anything except the other Faith, on the floor underneath her, still with that stupid smirk on her face.

“She does want me,” Faith says, her fingers going for new Faith’s throat. “She came here to find me.”

“Whatever you wanna tell yourself,” new Faith says, laughing even as Faith starts to strangle her. “You’re disgusting. Murderous bitch.”

“She came to find me,” Faith says, tightening her hold. She squeezes her eyes closed as she chokes the other version of herself. _“_ I’m good enough _. I’m good enough_.”

Gurgling sounds come from the other Faith for another minute, then she goes quiet. Faith keeps squeezing as her body jerks, once, twice, then no more.

“Faith,” she hears, and Faith looks up to see the Mayor standing over her. “It’s done,” he says gently, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “You can get up now.”

Dread filling her stomach, she looks down and sees Buffy underneath her, her neck turning purple in the shapes of Faith’s fingertips. Glassy eyes stare past her.

Faith scrambles back, off Buffy’s unmoving body, until her back hits the dresser. “No,” she says, horrified. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Hey, hey,” the boss says gently, soothingly, “it’s okay. You just did what you had to do.”

“No,” Faith repeats, still staring at Buffy’s body.

“It’s done,” the Mayor says again. “Let’s get some ice cream. It’ll make you feel better.”

Faith reaches blindly for the edge of the dresser, finding it and pulling herself up on shaking legs.

“Where are you going?” The Mayor asks, confused.

But Faith just wrenches the door open, and stumbles through, running through the parking lot.

XXXXX

Giles calls for a time out and gingerly slides his hand free of the training mitt, shaking the feeling back into it. “Not that I don’t appreciate your enthusiasm, Buffy,” he says, “but maybe you’d like to tell me what’s on your mind?”

“Sorry,” Buffy replies automatically, dropping her fists. “Got carried away.”

Giles gives her a look of agreement, switching to massaging his smarting palm with his opposite hand. He waits for Buffy to bring up what’s bothering her, but after a moment of additional silence, he ventures a guess. “Did you have an argument with your mother?”

“Huh?” Buffy asks.

“The exuberance,” Giles emphasizes again. “You don’t seem yourself.”

Buffy wavers for a moment, then caves. She hasn’t even told Willow about this yet, because talking about it makes it seem too real. It’s been days, and Faith hasn’t come back. Buffy tried going to her, but it seems like she can’t do that now either. “It’s Faith,” she admits. “We had a fight. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Giles looks concerned. He lays the mitts on his desk. “What about?”

Here’s where it gets awkward, Buffy thinks, wondering how much to tell him. “I told her about meeting her in the other dimension.”

Giles waits, obviously not seeing why this would cause a fight.

“I think you were right,” Buffy says, “about what you said before. She did have feelings for me.”

The puzzle pieces aren’t quite connecting. Giles gestures toward the couch, inviting her to sit, and he takes the chair across from her. “Why do you say that?” He asks.

“In the other world,” Buffy starts, willing her voice to sound steady and self assured, “there was a connection with Faith and me.” She swallows. “Not platonically, I mean.”

It takes a moment, then Giles takes his glasses off and begins inspecting them for blemishes. “I see,” he says, sounding hesitant, “and you told Faith this?”

“I didn’t want to lie to her,” Buffy says.

Giles nods, and they sit in awkward silence for a minute.

“She didn’t take it well,” Buffy adds, probably unnecessarily. “I haven’t been able to reach her in days.” She’s spent that time alternating between worrying that Faith won’t ever speak to her again and being angry about Faith’s reaction. Buffy and Faith weren’t even on speaking terms when Buffy met the other Faith. The angry part of her knows that she didn’t do anything wrong. She has every right to decide who she sleeps with. _Faith_ is the one in the wrong here. The other part of her understands where Faith’s coming from. Buffy might feel exactly the same if the situation was reversed.

“Perhaps she needs a cooling off period,” Giles suggests, gingerly cleaning his lenses.

“I hope that’s all,” Buffy says. She looks down at her lap. “I felt like I was getting somewhere with her. Like she was finally starting to trust that I’m on her side, and now I ruined it.”

“You haven’t ruined it,” Giles says gently. “You had to be honest with her, even if it was something she didn’t want to hear.”

Buffy nods, feeling miserable.

“But, Buffy,” Giles says pointedly, making her look up again, “be honest with yourself as well. Whatever connection you had with the other Faith you met… Faith is her own person, and there’s a lot of history between you two here.”

Buffy looks at him. “You’re saying it would be a mistake if we… got involved?”

“Not a mistake,” Giles clarifies. “I won’t presume to tell you if that would be a mistake or not. I’m only suggesting you tread lightly, for both your sakes.”

Buffy thinks about the kiss they shared on Faith’s birthday. She’s not sure she can promise to tread lightly when she might have already blown right past that option. “I’ll be careful,” she says. “If she ever speaks to me again.”

Giving her a small smile, Giles says, “I’m sure she will.”

Buffy’s less sure, but she puts on a brave face for Giles. “Should we train some more?”

Giles goes a little pale at the suggestion, but dutifully reaches for the mitts.

XXXXX

Faith stands in her apartment, folding clothes and gently packing them into boxes. Somehow, no matter how many times she does this, there’s always more to pack away. The studio is largely packed, her worldly possessions more orderly than her life ever was. The broken glass from the window to the roof glitters faintly in the early morning sun. Faith looks up to a knock on the door. Diana pokes her head through the doorway, a quick smile on her lips. “You almost ready?” She asks.

Faith nods, showing her the shirt she’s folding. “This is the last of it.”

“Good,” Diana says, coming into the room and surveying the boxes. “I’m so glad you called me. It’ll be good to have you home.”

Faith nods her agreement, but she looks away, toward the broken window.

Diana follows her gaze, giving her a knowing look. She comes to Faith’s side, picking up another t-shirt and shaking out the wrinkles. A slip of paper falls free, and she stoops to pick it up. “Do you need to take care of this?” She asks, holding it out to Faith.

Barely glancing at the bright pink paper, Faith shakes her head. “No.”

“It says this book has been overdue for days,” Diana points out.

Faith plucks the paper from her hands and strides to the trash bin, balling it up on her way. She throws it in on top of a dozen similar pieces of paper, all of them ignored. “Let’s go,” she suggests, walking back to Diana. “I don’t need the rest of this.”

Diana nods in understanding. She puts her arm around Faith’s shoulders, giving her a quick squeeze. “Whatever you want.”

They walk out the door together. Faith squints as they find themselves in a forest, with trees all around them. Ahead of them, there’s a small dirt road disappearing into what looks like a tunnel into the side of a mountain. “Where are we?” Faith asks, confused. She looks behind her, but the apartment is gone.

“A fork in the road,” Diana says, with a half smile.

“Going where?” Faith asks suspiciously.

“Wherever you want,” Diana says. She looks at Faith, obvious affection in her face. “You called me. You said you wanted to come home. Did you mean it?”

Faith nods.

“You know what that means,” Diana adds. “No more disappearing acts, no more side jobs. You’re the Slayer. The world needs you.”

Faith nods again.

Diana looks at Faith evenly, her blue eyes searching Faith’s face for any sign of dishonesty. Finally, she says, “Then go on. It’s all waiting for you.” She gestures toward the tunnel.

Glancing at it a little fearfully, Faith asks, “What’s down there?”

“I think you know the answer, don’t you?” Diana asks lightly.

Faith looks back at her. “You won’t be there.”

“No,” Diana agrees, “but you won’t be alone.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Faith mutters.

“Only one way to find out.”

Faith nods, gathering her courage together. She looks at Diana again. “I’m sorry,” she says, “for everything.”

Stepping in closer, Diana puts her hands on both of Faith’s shoulders. “For everything there is a season,” she says. “A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up.”

Faith frowns. “ _The Bible_?”

Diana shrugs. “It’s _your_ head,” she says. “Point is, it’s your time to heal. It’s your time to build up.” She pulls Faith to her in a firm hug. “It won’t be easy, but it’ll be worth it.”

Faith squeezes Diana tightly to her.

“Ready?” Diana asks, as Faith releases her.

“I think so,” Faith says. She takes a deep breath as she takes the first few tentative steps down the dirt road. She makes it to the opening of the tunnel before she stops. It’s unfathomably dark, except for one tiny pinprick of light, very far inside. Faith hesitates, looking back over her shoulder.

Standing just where Faith left her, Diana gives her a small smile.

Feeling slightly bolstered, Faith steps into the tunnel. The darkness immediately envelopes her, and her breath catches in her chest, a little panicked. She can’t even see her hand in front of her.

The flick of a lighter reaches her ears just before a small flame breaks through the absolute darkness. India Cohen holds a zippo, a grin on her face.

“You’re back,” Faith says, relieved to see her.

India shrugs. “Like the lady said, you’re not alone.” She extends her arm, the small flame casting deep shadows on either side of the tunnel. “I’ll walk with you,” she says.

Faith nods, and the two set off into the tunnel, their footsteps echoing around the otherwise silent path. “How far do we have to go?” She asks.

“Not far at all,” India says.

“And you’ll take me the whole way?”

“Sure will,” India says with some pep. “Not like I have anything better to do. I’ve got like,” she checks her bare wrist as if reading a watch, “four hours until She-Ra club.”

Faith squints at her. “Should I know what that means?”

“Slayer meet up,” India says. “Me and Araceli—she was before me—call it the She-Ra club.”

“You hang out with the other slayers?”

India nods. “We sit around swapping stories. Nikki mops the floor with anyone who feels like fighting. Millie does magic tricks, and the Victorian girls clutch their pearls about the rest of us showing our ankles.”

“Sounds like a hoot,” Faith says dryly.

“I mean, we _are_ dead,” India points out. “Entertainment options are limited.”

“Fair,” Faith agrees.

“We’ll be watching over you though,” India says, in a softer voice. “All of us. Even the Victorians. You won’t see us, but we’ll be there.”

This is equal parts comforting and unnerving. “Thank you,” Faith says.

“You’re lucky, you know.”

Looking around pointedly at the dark, featureless space they’re walking through, Faith asks, “How do you figure?”

“Honey bunny,” India says, as if stating the obvious. “She’s waiting for you back in the real world. The rest of us had to do it alone. You’ve got her.”

Faith doesn’t respond to that. She’s not in the mood to think about Buffy.

“This is your stop,” India says, with a suddenness that surprises Faith.

She blinks. Nothing looks any different. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” India says. She holds out the lighter for Faith to take.

Accepting it, Faith looks at India again, a little bewildered.

India nods at the lighter.

Taking a deep breath, Faith adjusts her grip. Then she flicks the lid down, plunging them into darkness.

XXXXX

The first thing she is aware of is the sound of regular, insistent beeping. It’s still dark, and she isn’t sure where the beeping sound is coming from. She tries to keep walking further into the tunnel, but finds that her body no longer seems to want to move. The beeping grows a little bit more insistent.

Her eyelids are so heavy that it takes a few tries to get them to open. When Faith finally succeeds, she sees that she’s in a mostly dark room, with only a small light on behind her. She’s lying under a warm blanket. She tries to wiggle her toes and is relieved to see them move under the blanket. Next she tries her fingers, successfully moving those as well. Her arm presents more of a complication. She’s able to lift it, but that produces a tugging feeling, and she realizes that her arm is hooked up to several monitoring devices. Slower now, she uses her untethered hand to take stock of the rest of her body. An IV line is running under the neck of her hospital gown, disappearing into the skin above her right breast. This is taped down to her skin to keep it immobilized. She keeps moving down her body, finding a small, plastic circular lump on her stomach, across from the still bumpy scar she has on her right side. Below that, she feels rough material stretching across her abdomen. She moves lower, and with a vague feeling of sickness, realizes she’s wearing a diaper.

Faith manages to lift her upper body partially up on one elbow, and pulls the blankets aside so she can see herself. Too thin legs poke from the bottom of the hospital gown. Green socks with little elves on them are covering her feet. She wiggles her toes again, as if to prove to herself that this is real. Her toes cooperate. That makes her feel better until she notices the tube snaking out from under her, leading to a bag of yellowish liquid dangling beside the bed.

A whimper escapes her mouth before she can help it, and she starts to feel panicked by the amount of tubes and needles and machines hooked up to her. She has to get all of this _stuff_ out of her body. She has to get out of here.

XXXXX

It takes several excruciating minutes, but she’s finally standing on her own two feet next to the bed, all plastic and pokey bits removed from her body. She hurts all over. Hastily applied bandages cover the open wounds in her chest and stomach. The pain is worst between her legs, but already getting a little more tolerable. Her slayer healing is at work. She’s leaving the monitors for last, not able to think of a way to avoid having whoever is watching those come rushing into her room.

She’s still wearing the green socks, unable to find anything else in her room. There are several other pairs of Christmas themed socks neatly folded and placed on the table by the bed. Someone has obviously decorated the room for Christmas, which seems weird, until she picks up the chart at the end of her bed and skims it. She finds Buffy’s name noted more than once. She’s been visiting. This throws her, and for a minute Faith stands at the end of the empty bed, fingers curled around the footboard, trying to pull herself together. The plan is to run as soon as she can. Out of the hospital for sure, and maybe further if the mood strikes. She hasn’t given much more thought to her plan than that. She especially hasn’t thought about Buffy. Even the thought of her makes Faith’s stomach twist into knots. She’s embarrassed. She’s pissed off, and yeah, fine, jealous. But mostly pissed. The best thing she could do for herself is to hit the highway and hitch a ride out of this dump town and far away from Buffy Summers. Because really, _fuck_ Buffy and her dream walking and her Christmas socks and her running off to other dimensions and letting some other version of Faith touch her.

Feeling somewhat restored by her anger, Faith drags the beeping machine on wheels after her, making her way to the door and peering out. There’s a nurse at the desk down the hall, just getting to her feet. Faith ducks further into the shadows, waiting to see which way she goes. When she walks in the opposite direction, Faith knows this is her chance. She turns off the monitor with an easy flip of the switch, then pulls several sensors off her arm. She steps into the hallway in her socked feet, going the opposite direction that the nurse did. Soundlessly, she disappears into the stairwell below the exit sign. Down the stairs she goes, slipping out at the second floor. She spots a sign for a staff restroom and quickly heads in, before anyone can notice the coma patient in elf socks wandering the hospital.

There are lockers here, with locks that are no match for a slayer. Faith picks one at random, tearing the door off without much effort. Inside she finds some neatly folded clothing. Nothing that really suits her, but she’ll wear lederhosen if it gets her out of this hospital. She tugs the gown off, dropping it on the floor, and plucks gray scrub pants from inside the locker. Putting them on is a challenge, because she has to bend over, and neither of the holes in her torso seem particularly pleased with this. Still, she gets it done, and manages to do the same with the too-big _Knapsack_ t-shirt. She plucks a red zip up hoodie from the locker last, then slips it on. No shoes.

Faith chooses another locker, this time just breaking the lock. She lucks out, finding some worn tennis shoes. They’re too big, but she can’t afford to stay any longer here. Someone will notice she’s gone soon. Neither locker has socks, and she frowns to herself as she slips the sneakers on over the elf socks. Leaving the gown where it fell, she moves to leave the room, catching sight of herself in the mirror first. She looks like death, all dark circles and hollowed out cheeks. Beneath the bandage on her chest, she can feel warm blood oozing free once more. She needs food and a place to hole up. Give her body a chance to heal from these latest injuries before she hits the road. Turning away from the mirror, Faith slips back out into the hallway, calmly walking to the elevator and hitting the down button. No one gives her a second look. A few moments later, she’s stepping out of the elevator at the first floor. She disappears through the sliding glass doors in the hospital lobby, leaving no one the wiser. 

XXXXX

Buffy walks in the front door, arms loaded with bags from the mall. Joyce manages to come in behind her, also juggling several bags.

“I know we say this every year,” Buffy says, trying to put her packages down on the floor of the foyer without dropping anything, “but we really have to start Christmas shopping earlier. This is ridiculous.”

“We are terrible time managers,” Joyce agrees, maneuvering her way into the dining room with her load.

Buffy manages to get everything deposited on the floor without the distinctive sound of shattering. Breathing a sigh of relief, she follows her mom into the dining room. “You order the pizza; I’ll get the wrapping stuff?” She offers.

“Sounds great,” Joyce says.

“Are you getting two?” Buffy asks.

Joyce gives her a knowing look. “Of course I am.”

“Have I told you you’re the best mom in the world?” Buffy asks, sidling up to her and putting her arms around her shoulders.

“It may have been mentioned when you saw me putting those boots you wanted in the cart,” Joyce says dryly.

“It bears repeating.” Buffy squeezes her mom tightly, then lets her go, heading to the living room. A giant tub of gift-wrapping accoutrement sits against the wall, several tubes of wrapping paper stacked on top. The phone rings as Buffy’s muscling the tub into her arms.

She carries the tub into the dining room by memory, not able to see over the top of the wrapping paper pile. As she’s setting it down, Joyce pokes her head in from the kitchen. “Buffy, it’s Giles.”

Buffy walks into the kitchen, accepting the phone from her. “Hey Giles,” she greets. “I don’t want to raise your expectations too much, but this might finally be the year I get you a gift that isn’t a librarian mug.”

Giles gives her an obligatory chuckle, and Buffy can tell immediately that something’s wrong. “What is it?” She asks.

“It’s Faith,” Giles says.

It feels like the world suddenly stops turning. Her knees wobble. “She’s not…?”

“No,” Giles says immediately. “No, not that. She’s awake.”

Her knees are still wobbling but now for another reason. “How is she? Can I see her?”

“I’m afraid not,” Giles says, sounding concerned. “She’s not at the hospital. Evidently she woke a few hours ago, and she left without anyone seeing her.”

How the hell does that happen? “But,” Buffy says, “why would she do that?”

“Perhaps she was afraid,” Giles suggests. “Or confused. No matter her reasons, we have to find her.”

Buffy nods, looking up to meet Joyce’s concerned gaze. “I’m on it,” she says. “Leaving now.”

As she hangs up the phone, Joyce asks, “What happened?”

“It’s Faith,” Buffy says, her voice sounding dazed even to her own ears. “She’s awake.” Awake and missing. Buffy’s throat feels like a lump has taken up residence there.

Her mother’s face is a mask of concern.

“She left the hospital,” Buffy adds. “I have to find her.” She crosses to her mom and wraps her in a hug. “I’m sorry I have to take a rain check on wrapping.”

“Don’t worry,” Joyce says kindly, “I’ll save your half of the work.”

“Thanks, mom,” Buffy says dryly. “You’re too nice sometimes.”

“’Best mom in the world,’ I believe the term was.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Buffy says. “Now you’re just getting cocky.”

Joyce shrugs, then looks at her seriously. “Be careful, honey.”

“I will,” Buffy promises. Joyce stills looks concerned, so she adds, “She doesn’t want to hurt me.” She’s not actually 100% sure that’s true, but there’s no sense in letting her mom know that.

Buffy heads out the door, already thinking of possible places Faith might be headed. She probably won’t get that far. Buffy’s seen the condition of her body. Even with slayer strength and healing, it’s going to take time for her to get back to full strength. Buffy just hopes she can find her soon.

XXXXX

Faith crosses the street, eying the familiar apartment building. As she reaches the opposite side of the street, she starts to feel a little lightheaded and she stops, bracing herself against a parked car. After a moment, the feeling passes, and she resumes walking toward the building. Spying her target, she creeps toward the illuminated window. She sets her feet carefully between the bushes and then leans forward just enough to peer through.

Inside, Giles is standing in the doorway to his kitchen, sipping from a mug. Willow and Xander are seated on the couch, with Buffy perched on the arm of the couch beside Willow. A man she doesn’t recognize sits in the armchair.

Faith doesn’t know what she’s doing here. She should be miles away by now, but something inside her couldn’t leave without seeing Buffy again. She’s as beautiful as Faith remembers, from the real world and from in her head—all long soft hair and big oversize sweater because she insists on dressing for winter even though this is Southern California. Buffy’s face is worried, her hands knotted together where they sit on her thigh. Faith thinks of Buffy kneeling in front of her in Diana’s apartment, the worry in her face, how soft her hands were when she checked Faith for injuries.

“Where have you already searched?” Giles asks, drawing Faith’s attention to him.

Buffy glances at the man in the chair, seeming to hesitate before she speaks. “The area by City Hall and her old apartment. I got bupkis.”

Faith isn’t expecting the way Buffy’s voice makes her heart seize a little in her chest. “ _It’s not a trick,” Buffy whispers, her face bent close to Faith’s._ Faith squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, curling her hand into a fist. The pressure of her fingernails into her palm helps her re-focus. _Keep it together, Lehane._

“Are we sure she’s still in town?” Willow asks.

Buffy shrugs. “We’d talked about her staying put.”

Xander puts in, “Am I missing something? Why do we all have worried face? I thought Faith was on the rehabilitation train.” He looks at Buffy. “I thought you were talking things through.”

Buffy winces. “We were… we had an argument.”

“What kind of argument?” Xander probes. “You think Nickelback is good and she has taste in music, or like, you made with the fisticuffs, and now she’s a homicidal maniac again?”

Faith bristles at his descriptor. She’s never been a maniac. Homicidal yes, but always for a reason.

“She’s not homicidal,” Buffy says immediately. “There were no fisticuffs.”

“But this was not a Nickelback situation.”

“No,” Buffy admits. “She was pretty upset.” She looks away from Xander’s searching gaze, up at Giles. “I don’t know what’s going on in her head right now.”

Faith’s not sure what’s going on in her own head right now either. She’s angry at Buffy. Really angry. And thinking about Buffy hopping into bed with some alternate universe version of her fans the flames every time she lets her mind concentrate on it. But at the same time, she saw the decorations at the hospital. She’s still wearing socks with little elves on them, and she knows where this stuff came from. She knows that there’s exactly one person in the world who might give a damn about her right now, and she’s standing on the other side of that glass.

“Well,” Giles says, not pushing for further detail, “we have to find her.”

“I can patrol and wait for her to come to me, if she’s going to,” Buffy says. “She’s not exactly low-profile girl.”

“But then what?” Giles asks.

“Then I talk to her,” Buffy says. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. We have no idea where she is. We don't know what she's thinking, what she's feeling...”

“But if she’s evil,” Willow presses. “What then?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy admits. “We still have a decision to make. Do we hand her over to the cops? They wouldn't know what to do with a Slayer even if they knew we existed.”

“What about the Council?” Willow asks.

“Been there; tried that,” Xander points out. “Not unlike smothering a forest fire with napalm as I recall.”

“The initiative has containment facilities,” the man Faith doesn’t recognize offers.

Faith doesn’t know what that means, but she sees Buffy stiffen slightly and gathers from her body language that it’s nothing good. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” she says, not directly declining the offer but not addressing it either. “She could be terrified. Maybe she doesn't even remember. Or maybe she does and she's sorry and she's alone hiding somewhere.”

“Well,” Giles says, seeming to be united with Buffy in wanting to steer the conversation away from whatever the Initiative is, “perhaps there's some form of rehabilitation we just haven't thought about.”

“I just need to find her,” Buffy says. “I can’t talk about this any more.” She gets up from the couch. “I’m gonna patrol again,” she says. “Look for her. I’ll call you if I hear anything.”

“I’ll do the same,” Giles says, “but Buffy…” She looks at him. “If this has escaped the Council’s notice so far, it won’t for much longer. We need to find her before they do.”

Buffy nods grimly.

Faith shrinks back against the wall, hunching down in the bushes when she hears Giles’s front door open. Buffy comes down the steps, her hair bouncing as she goes.

A moment later, the man from inside follows her. 

“Buffy!” He calls, and Buffy stops, turning around.

When he catches up to her, she says, “Riley, I know what you’re going to say, and you can’t help.”

“Why not?” Riley asks. “This is what we do. We’re trained for this.”

“You’re not trained for Faith.”

“Because she’s a slayer.”

“Yes,” Buffy says, “and you have no idea what a slayer is capable of, none of you do.”

“We have equipment,” Riley points out. “We can handle her.”

Buffy crosses her arms. “She isn’t a _thing_ to be handled,” she says, sounding disgusted.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Riley says. “I just meant we can take her in safely.”

“You don’t get it,” Buffy says. “This whole Initiative thing, your bosses have no idea what you’re messing with, and someday, it going to blow up in their faces.”

Riley looks taken aback. “Is this about the Initiative, or is it about me and you?” He asks. “Because I thought we—I mean, I thought this was headed somewhere.”

Faith’s eyes narrow at this. The anger that’s been flickering in her stomach flares up. So now it’s not just some alternate universe version of her that Buffy’s been bedding down with, it’s this beef stick too?

Buffy’s face softens. “Riley,” she says not unkindly, “I just… can’t.”

Riley blinks, surprised. “I don’t understand where this is coming from,” he says. “I know you like me. And it’s not like we don’t have anything in common.”

“But that’s not enough.”

Riley starts to look a little more desperate. “I’ve never been this excited about anybody before.” He takes a step closer to her. “I’m not trying to scare you, and I’m not going to force myself on you, but I’m not going to walk away because I think it _might_ not work.”

“Look,” Buffy says firmly, “that’s not it. I just—”

“Is this about Faith?” Riley cuts in. “Because I said we could help you track her down? We don’t have to bring the Initiative in, if you don’t want to.”

Faith can practically see the impatience beginning to form in Buffy, being quite adept at bringing it out herself.

“There is no ‘we,’” Buffy says.

Riley blanches. “I know we haven’t—”

“Riley!” Buffy says, finally losing her cool. “My answer is no. I’m sorry that you’re disappointed. You’re a great guy, and I’m sure you’d make a great boyfriend, just… not for me.”

An odd sense of satisfaction makes itself at home in her chest. Faith almost feels sorry for this guy. He looks shocked.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

Looking uncomfortable, Buffy nods tensely.

Riley starts down the walkway, and he makes it about half way to the sidewalk before Buffy calls his name. He turns back, looking hopeful.

“The Initiative has no idea what a slayer is,” she says, “but if you go near Faith, trust me when I say, you’re going to find out. Don’t look for her,” she says, then adds in a softer voice, “please.”

Nodding tightly, Riley turns away. Buffy watches him get in his car and leave.

Faith thinks about stepping out of the shadows. She wants to. She’s weaker than she’s ever felt, and she’s pretty sure that in spite of their last conversation, Buffy would help her. And Faith wants that, even if she’s not sure any more why Buffy started showing up in her head. But some other part of her wants Buffy to worry about her. Doesn’t she deserve to be scared for Faith, _of_ Faith even? She walked into Faith’s head in her stupid pajamas, with her big eyes, and her soft voice, saw all the shit she had no right to see, and then, after all that, announced that, oh by the way, she fucked some bizzaro Faith. That isn’t something Faith can just forgive and forget.

Buffy sets off in the direction of downtown, looking tired and tense. Faith gives Buffy enough time to get past the end of the block, then steps out of the shadows, disappearing down the darkened street in the opposite direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I feel obligated to make some disclaimers here. Should you ever find yourself waking up from a coma, and endowed with slayer strength that allows you to actually coordinate your limbs immediately, there are several things you should NOT do, including yanking out an indwelling catheter, removing IV lines yourself, and pulling out a PEG tube as described here. If you do not have slayer healing, you have potentially ruptured your urethra, bled quite a bit, and have maybe given yourself sepsis. You were probably also on blood thinners because you were comatose, so any bleeding your body wants to do is magnified. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk about how the Buffy writers gave zero fucks about the accuracy of a human being in a coma.
> 
> 2) Shout out to any random Knapsack fans out there. This stolen t-shirt was for you. 
> 
> 3) The slayers referenced by India Cohen are ‘unidentified Mexican slayer’ who immediately preceded India, Nikki Wood, and Millie Gresham.
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter! Our girl is awake. :D Comments always appreciated. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a bit more description in this chapter about blood and wounds. Sorry to any squeamish folks!

_Faith thinks about stepping out of the shadows. She wants to. She’s weaker than she’s ever felt, and she’s pretty sure that in spite of their last conversation, Buffy would help her. And Faith wants that, even if she’s not sure any more why Buffy started showing up in her head. But some other part of her wants Buffy to worry about her. Doesn’t she deserve to be scared for Faith, of Faith even? She walked into Faith’s head in her stupid pajamas, with her big eyes, and her soft voice, saw all the shit she had no right to see, and then, after all that, announced that, oh by the way, she fucked some bizzaro Faith. That isn’t something Faith can just forgive and forget._

_Buffy sets off in the direction of downtown, looking tired and tense. Faith gives Buffy enough time to get past the end of the block, then steps out of the shadows, disappearing down the darkened street in the opposite direction._

Chapter Seven

One of the advantages of being the slayer is the ability to go from a state of sleep to wakefulness instantly and without showing a single outward sign. Buffy finds herself awake and alert, curled on her side, eyes still closed. She can tell just by her internal body clock that it’s quite late, probably after 3am or so. No hint of light comes through her closed eyelids. It’s quiet in the house, no sounds of motion from her mother or anyone else. But something feels off. It takes her a moment to place it.

First, the sound of breathing from across the room. Then the accelerated heartbeat that doesn’t belong to her. Then that feeling in her neck, warm, a little tingly. Buffy opens her eyes slowly, sweeping across the shadows in her room. A few feet from her bed, Faith stands just inside the window, as though she might climb back out at any moment.

Her body reacts before her mind does, assessing the threat level and tensing the muscles she’d need to spring out of bed. It takes a second for her brain to catch up, and when it does, she consciously tells herself to relax. “Faith,” she says softly, her voice groggy although her mind isn’t. “I’ve been looking for you.” Buffy sits up slowly, mindful of the way Faith’s still got her hand wrapped around the window sill.

Faith says nothing, but her eyes watch Buffy in the dark.

“Are you all right?” Buffy asks, pushing the covers off her legs.

“Five-by-five,” Faith says, her voice sounding raspy from lack of use. “That’s the thing about a coma. You wake up all rested and rejuvenated.”

“Do you?” Buffy asks, wondering whether she should reach for the lamp, or whether the light will send Faith fleeing.

“No,” Faith says mirthlessly. “You wake up wearing a diaper with tubes all over your body. And usually without the ability to move most of your muscles.” She looks down at herself. “I’m a walking medical marvel, what can I say?”

Buffy opens her mouth to ask if Faith wants to sit, but Faith shifts, and the light from the window catches on something metallic in her hand. Buffy swallows, then reaches slowly for the lamp on her bedside table. She clicks it on, the small lamp giving off enough light for her to see Faith reasonably well.

Faith’s wearing a loose t-shirt and zip up hoodie and a pair of dark gray scrub pants that sag on her too thin frame. In her hand is some kind of tool. It fits around three of her fingers, a little metallic rectangle sitting in the palm of her hand. Faith flexes her fingers experimentally.

“What is that?” Buffy asks, trying to make her voice sound calm, even though the rest of her is now on edge. If you would have asked her two days ago if Faith planned to hurt her, she’d have said no, but now she’s standing in Buffy’s room in the middle of the night, holding something that looks vaguely threatening. Her posture isn’t overtly hostile, but neither does she seem particularly friendly.

“Don’t know,” Faith says. “The boss left it for me. Something about going out with a bang.”

“Going out,” Buffy repeats. “Is that your plan?”

Faith considers this before shaking her head. “I don’t have a plan,” she says tiredly. “I don’t have anything.”

Looking at her, Buffy sees the brittleness of her body, the very un-Faith like clothing she likely stole from somewhere in the hospital before she ran, her face pale and devoid of makeup. She looks like a ghost of herself, and in spite of the way she acted the last time they saw each other, Buffy feels for her. “You have me,” she says.

Suspicious does not begin to cover the look Faith gives her. Buffy understands that. Faith feels like Buffy lied to her. She’s not exactly unjustified in thinking that.

“Stay here,” Buffy offers. “You can take my bed.”

Faith looks back at the window, as though she’s thinking of climbing out, but after a moment she nods.

Getting to her feet slowly, Buffy tries to keep her movements fluid and non-threatening. “Will you take that off?” She asks, gesturing to the contraption in Faith’s hand.

Faith looks down as though she forgot it was there, but she pulls it off her fingers carefully and sets it on the windowsill.

Buffy doesn’t move toward it. Instead, she takes a few steps away, toward her dresser. “I’ll get you something else to sleep in,” she says. In her pajama drawer, she pulls out the least ridiculous thing she can find: a plain black v-neck and plaid pajama pants. She brings them over to the bed, meeting Faith there.

When she holds out the clothes, Faith hesitates, then takes them from her grip. She sets them down on the bed, then slips the jacket off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Grasping the hem off the t-shirt she’s wearing, she begins pulling it up. Buffy turns her back hastily, giving Faith privacy as she changes into Buffy’s shirt.

The sound of rustling continues as Faith changes out of the pants she’s wearing, and then Buffy hears the slight give of the mattress when Faith sits down. She turns back around, seeing Faith now sitting on the edge of her bed, looking exhausted and uncertain. The scent of fresh blood is heavy in the air.

There’s a bandage on Faith’s chest partially exposed by the neck of the shirt she’s now wearing. Blood is visible from beneath it, but not yet seeping through. “You pulled the IV out yourself?” She asks.

Faith nods.

Just the idea of that sounds super painful. “I could change the bandage for you,” Buffy suggests. “Clean it up a little?”

At first, it looks like she’s going to decline, but then Faith says, “Okay.”

“Let’s go to the bathroom,” Buffy says.

Hesitating a second, Faith says, “Your mom…”

“She’s definitely asleep,” Buffy says. “We’ll be quiet. It’s okay.”

Dutifully getting up from the bed, Faith follows Buffy out of the bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom, her socked feet soundless on the floor.

Turning on the overhead light in the bathroom, Buffy waits until Faith joins her before she closes the door with a quiet click. Opening the linen closet, she grabs the hefty first aid kit.

Faith stands stiffly beside the counter, her hands at her sides but fingers worrying against her palms. Buffy sets the first aid kit on the counter and unzips it, pulling out gauze, alcohol wipes, tape, and antibiotic ointment. After washing her hands, she turns to Faith and asks, “You ready?”

Pulling the neck of the shirt aside so Buffy can reach the majority of the bandage, Faith nods.

Buffy pulls at the tape holding the gauze to Faith’s chest as gently as she can, wincing in sympathy when she has to apply a little more force. For her part, Faith remains stoic. When Buffy carefully lifts the bandage away from her chest, Faith closes her eyes.

The skin beneath the bandage is purplish and swollen, with bright red blood seeping from a small hole in Faith’s chest. Dried blood is coating the skin previously covered by the bandage. Buffy discards the used gauze and rips open an alcohol swab. As lightly as she can, she cleans Faith’s skin, avoiding the actual wound. The wound itself doesn’t look too bad; it’s just the swelling that’s concerning. “We should ice this,” Buffy says, picking up a fresh bandage. She covers the wound, then tells Faith, “Put some pressure here.”

Faith does as instructed, holding the bandage down as Buffy gets the tape ready. She checks again before taping, and the bleeding seems to have stopped for now. As she finishes taping the gauze down to Faith’s skin, Buffy asks, “Did you take everything out yourself?”

Faith gives her a look that can only be described as defiant. “Yeah.”

It’s on the tip of her tongue to ask Faith what the hell she was thinking, but Buffy swallows that down. “What else do we need to look at?” She asks.

Lifting the bottom of her shirt, Faith reveals another hastily applied bandage on her abdomen.

Buffy’s eyes skip to the opposite side of her stomach, where a puffy scar mars smooth, pale skin. Reminding herself of the task at hand, Buffy reaches for the dressing, delicately peeling it off. This one isn’t bloody, but damp with a brownish yellow fluid. There is a small hole in Faith’s abdomen, but it seems on its way to closing. The skin around the hole is red and irritated. Deciding not to use the alcohol swab on already angry looking skin, Buffy gets a washcloth. She wets it down and adds a little soap, then cleans the area.

Faith’s stomach tenses and shrinks away from her touch. When Buffy looks up, Faith’s eyes are closed, her face pinched. “Almost done,” Buffy says. Once the area is clean, Buffy folds a gauze pad in four, applying it to the small wound before she re-dresses the whole area.

“Anything else?” She asks.

Faith shakes her head. She waits while Buffy washes her hands again, then puts away the first aid kit. Buffy comes back to the cabinet, opening the top drawer and pulling out a bottle of Tylenol. She shakes two into her hand, holding them out to Faith.

Accepting the pills, Faith takes a paper cup from the dispenser on the countertop and gets herself water from the faucet. She swallows the pills, then drops the cup into the trash.

Faith looks so exhausted, so frail, that all Buffy wants to do is find a way to make things better. She’s thought about what it would be like when Faith woke up, but admittedly her brain usually skipped right to the part where Faith looked just like her old self, the two of them slaying together. She’d thought she’d be there when Faith woke up, ready to reassure her that she wasn’t by herself, not this time. This time she’d have Buffy, all the way. Instead Faith woke up alone, scared, pulling tubes out of her body and running away. And she didn’t come right to Buffy, because of how they left things last time they spoke. “I was really worried,” Buffy says softly, wanting to touch her, but not sure that would be welcome.

“No need,” Faith says. “I always land on my feet. Except for that time you put me in a coma, I guess.”

Buffy winces. They blink at each other, the yellowish bathroom lighting making Faith look even more wan than she really is.

Relenting slightly, Faith says, “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine. I only _look_ like shit.”

“You don’t,” Buffy says, her throat feeling thick. She does, but she also looks awake. Moving, breathing, speaking, talking, _awake_. Buffy’s not even thinking about their last fight, or whatever that little toy the Mayor left Faith is. She’s just overwhelmed by the fact that Faith is awake. Faith is here, in their bathroom.

She takes a small step closer, telegraphing her movements because Faith still looks jumpy. When Faith doesn’t move from the counter, Buffy reaches for her hip. She steps the rest of the way into Faith’s space and lightly wraps her arms around her, careful not to squeeze too tightly.

Faith stiffens at first, then she relaxes slightly into the hug, one hand settling on Buffy’s back.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Buffy says against Faith’s hair.

Faith doesn’t reply to that, but after a moment, she brings her other arm around Buffy so she’s fully hugging back.

It’ll take more than this to rebuild the tentative relationship they’d started building, but Buffy will take this for now. Mindful of how tired Faith obviously is, she lets her go, even though she doesn’t really want to.

They go back down the hall in silence, Buffy watching Faith from the corner of her eye. Faith looks like even standing upright is a challenge for her. She sits down on Buffy’s bed immediately, not waiting for her to close the door.

“Do you need anything?” Buffy asks, stepping closer to her. “Want me to get you some ice?”

Faith shakes her head.

“Okay,” Buffy says. “I’ll go sleep on the couch. If you need anything, you can wake me.”

She doesn’t have time to turn away, because Faith’s hand moves quicker than she expects, closing around her wrist almost instantly. Her grip is stronger than Buffy would have expected. Buffy winces, and Faith seems to notice, slackening, but not releasing, her hold. Buffy waits for her to say something, but Faith doesn’t speak.

“You want me to stay here?” Buffy asks, confused.

This time, Faith inclines her head just slightly.

“Okay,” Buffy says. She gently pulls her wrist back until Faith releases her. Reaching for the lamp again, Buffy flicks it off, plunging the room into darkness. She walks around the edge of her bed to the seldom used other side, then pulls back the covers and slides in, making sure to stay all the way to one side.

“Are you going to lay down?” She asks after a moment.

Faith finally does, her movements stiff. She takes the space Buffy was sleeping in just a few minutes ago, pulling the covers up and over her legs. She arranges herself on her side, facing Buffy as though she wants to keep an eye on her. “Did I hurt you?” She asks, after a moment. When Buffy’s brow wrinkles in confusion, she nods at her arm. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I’m fine,” Buffy says. She can’t stop staring at Faith in the dark. The _awakeness_ of her. She’s talking and moving and she’s here in Buffy’s room. And sure she looks more than a little worse for the wear, but she’s _here_.

Faith must be exhausted, but she doesn’t close her eyes. Big brown eyes look back at her, totally inscrutable. She could be plotting to murder Buffy with whatever that thing is she brought with her. There’s no way for Buffy to know for sure, but she’s been the slayer for a long time now, and if there’s one thing she trusts, it’s her gut. Her gut says Faith isn’t going to hurt her.

Buffy reaches across the space between them slowly. She brushes hair back from Faith’s forehead, her fingertips barely brushing her skin.

Blinking tiredly, Faith’s eyes slip closed before she catches herself. She forces herself back to wakefulness, glancing around the room as if the terrain might have changed in the few instants she started to fall asleep.

“You can sleep,” Buffy says quietly.

After a moment, Faith says, “Maybe I still am.”

That seems like a pretty valid fear for someone who’s just been in a coma for six months, so Buffy isn’t exactly sure how to convince her that she’s in fact awake. “This is real,” she says. “I know you had a lot of bad dreams, but did you ever dream that you were tired and sore like this?”

Faith thinks about that for a moment, then shakes her head.

“See?” Buffy asks. “Real life’s too crappy to be a dream.”

“Very comforting,” Faith says dryly, but Buffy notices her body relax slightly.

“I try,” Buffy says.

Faith’s quiet again. After a few minutes, she starts to fall asleep. Then she jerks back awake, her eyes wide.

“Hey,” Buffy says softly, scooting a little closer to her. “This is real. You’re safe here. I promise.” She puts her hand over Faith’s where it lays on the pillow between them.

Faith doesn’t look altogether convinced by that, but she closes her eyes. Her fingers curl around Buffy’s.

Squeezing Faith’s hand lightly, Buffy keeps still, her breathing even. It takes several long minutes, but Faith finally falls asleep, her hand relaxing in Buffy’s.

XXXXX

When Faith wakes up, she sees an unfamiliar ceiling above her. She tenses, fingers digging into the blanket covering her as she looks around quickly. When she looks right, she sees Buffy, still sleeping. She’s on her side, one hand lying on the sheet between them, close to Faith’s shoulder. Her lips are parted, long blond hair covering part of her face.

The frantic beating of her heart slows down slightly. She remembers coming here last night, Buffy changing her bandages and telling her to stay. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. She was so tired and everything hurt. She’d be easy pickings for any demon or vamp who stumbled across her. That one of the boss’s henchmen found her so easily let her know that her rejoining the world of the waking wasn’t going unnoticed. She needed somewhere to go.

She found herself standing in the bushes outside of Buffy’s house, looking up at her dark bedroom window, an internal war waging over whether she should go in. Seeing Buffy earlier had done nothing to settle her emotions one way or another. She had the boss’s gift to her clenched in one hand. She thought about the fact that Buffy started showing up in her head after she went on a dimensional walkabout and hooked up with some non-fucked up version of her, and the metal seemed to grow hotter in her hand. Then she thought about the real Buffy putting her body in front of Faith’s, fighting _herself_ to save Faith, and her anger seemed to wilt.

She wanted to go inside. She wanted Buffy to rush to open the window and pull her in. To wrap her arms around Faith and tell her everything would be okay. It made her feel pathetic, but it was true. So she went. She used the last reserves of strength to climb onto the porch roof, crack open Buffy’s window, and step through. And now she’s here, tucked into Buffy’s bed, wearing her pajamas, her wounds re-dressed.

Rolling onto her side, Faith positions her hand under her head. She looks at Buffy. Even in her sleep, she’s cute. She’s wearing one of her pairs of ridiculous pajamas, with candy canes wearing top hats on them. Her hair is rumpled, a few strands dangling over her face.

Faith reaches over and gently brushes her hair back, so it’s off Buffy’s face.

When Buffy blinks awake slowly, she doesn’t seem surprised to find Faith there looking at her. “Hi,” she says in a sleepy voice.

“Hey,” Faith says.

“Was I snoring?” Buffy asks.

“Like a warthog,” Faith lies.

Buffy rolls her eyes. “Now I know you’re lying. I snore like a tiny, delicate mouse, at most.”

“Whatever you say,” Faith agrees.

Buffy shakes her head, but she’s smiling slightly. “Did you sleep okay?” She asks.

“I think so.” Faith doesn’t remember dreaming at all, and by the look of the light coming through the window, it’s late morning. She got a decent amount of sleep. “Thanks for letting me stay,” she remembers to add.

“I’m glad you came,” Buffy says, looking a little uncertain. “I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me.”

“Yeah,” Faith says, not making any move to reassure Buffy that she _did_ want to see her.

“Do you remember us talking?” Buffy asks. “When you were asleep?”

“I remember everything,” Faith says flatly. She rolls over, sitting up. This conversation is making her feel too exposed. She doesn’t want to look directly at the sad face Buffy’s making. “You came to the hospital to see me,” she says. “Why?”

“I wanted to,” Buffy says, sounding surprised. She sits up too, pulling her knee up so she’s still facing Faith. “It made me feel better, I guess, to be able to do something for you. Even if you didn’t know I was there.”

Faith thinks about that for a moment. Then she says, “I don’t get you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do all of this?” Faith asks bluntly. “You bumped uglies with some other version of me, great. Good for you. She’s not me. I’m not her. So why do you suddenly give a shit about me?”

Buffy stiffens, then seems to force herself to relax again. “She wasn’t you,” she agrees, “but she reminded me what it was like when you first came to town. It was fun. It was easy, but that was because I let it be. I never let it be easy with you.”

Faith doesn’t speak, giving Buffy time to finish.

“I always cared,” Buffy says. “It hurt me when you couldn’t deal with what we did. It hurt me when you went to work for the Mayor. I cared.”

“You hurt me too,” Faith says defensively, gesturing at the side of her stomach still marred with an ugly red scar.

“I know,” Buffy says, in a small voice. “And I know you don’t just mean that.”

Faith looks at her, not willing to acknowledge that she means anything more than the stabbing.

“We both did things we wish we could take back. All I can say is that I’m sorry,” Buffy says, “for all of it. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner about the spell, and what happened in the other world. I wasn’t sure how to.”

Faith’s jaw feels tight, and she realizes she’s gritting her teeth. She has to consciously relax her mouth. “So, my birthday,” she says, hating the way her voice sounds, “what was that?”

Buffy looks confused.

“You forgot which me you were with?” Faith asks.

“No,” Buffy says.

Faith hates the hurt she can hear in Buffy’s voice. She hates more the way Buffy made her feel. It feels like the whole time in the library was a lie.

“I was with you,” Buffy says, all big earnest eyes and downturned mouth.

“Right,” Faith says, not convinced.

Buffy lifts her hand as though she might reach across the space between them, then thinks better of it, and puts it back in her lap. “I get why you’re upset; I do,” she says, “but I meant everything I said before, about wanting a second chance. Wanting us back on the same side.” She looks down at her lap. “I didn’t plan for your birthday. It just happened.”

“So it was a mistake,” Faith concludes.

“No,” Buffy says, looking back up sharply. “You’re twisting my words.”

“So untwist them,” Faith says, not feeling particularly sympathetic.

“Do you even want me to?” Buffy asks, starting to sound ticked off. “Because it sounds like you just want to fight with me.” She gestures toward the window and the little metal tool still sitting there. “You showed up at my house, with whatever _that_ is, and I still let you in, because I thought we were starting to trust each other.”

“We _were_ ,” Faith says, emphasizing the past tense.

Buffy flings her hands up, letting them land roughly on her knees. “Okay, so we’re done with that?”

“I don’t know!” Faith says, her voice rising. Buffy’s eyes cut toward the bedroom door, as if expecting her mother to burst in at any moment, and Faith catches herself, lowering her voice. “I don’t know, okay?” She swings her legs over the side of the bed, her back to Buffy.

It’s quiet for a minute, and Faith looks down at her bare feet, poking out from beneath Buffy’s pajamas pants. She says, “I had a slayer dream. Another one. With the slayer before you.”

If Buffy’s thrown by the change in topic, she doesn’t show it. “What was it about?”

Shrugging, Faith says, “Choices.”

Buffy waits for her to say more.

“Good or evil, wood ducks or honey, a lot of weird shit,” Faith says. “I want to be a slayer again, try to balance the scale.” She looks back up, her eyes wandering around Buffy’s room. “But I don’t have to stay here to do that.”

It takes a moment for Buffy to respond. “You don’t want to stay here?” She asks.

Faith shrugs again.

“Because of me?” Buffy asks, sounding upset. “Sunnydale’s not big enough for both of us?” There’s a rustling sound behind her, and Faith turns around to see Buffy getting out of bed. She comes around the edge of the bed until she’s standing in front of Faith. “I don’t accept that,” she says.

Faith snorts. “It’s not really up to you.”

“You don’t want to go,” Buffy says. “I know you don’t.”

“Well, B,” Faith says, “I know you think you know everything, but—”

“So the library meant nothing to you?” Buffy cuts in, frustrated.

“What?”

“Us talking,” Buffy says, “about our watchers, about everything that happened between us.” She’s working those big eyes again, and damn if it’s not affecting Faith. “Giles’s office…” Buffy adds. “That meant nothing?”

Faith thinks about the two of them sitting on the training mat, Buffy warm against her side. “I didn’t say that.”

“Well, it obviously didn’t, if you’re just going to skip town.”

Faith looks up at Buffy, her hair a mess from sleep, hands on her hips. She’s adorable even when she’s being infuriating. “It meant a lot,” she says, allowing herself to be honest.

That seems to take some of the wind out of Buffy’s sails. She sags, her next retort dying on her lips. “Then don’t go,” she says. She sits down beside Faith, looking as tired as Faith feels. “I don’t want you to go,” she says, looking down at the floor.

Part of Faith is still angry and wants to say she doesn’t care what Buffy wants. The bigger part of her can admit that she doesn’t really want to go. She wants to be where Buffy is. She always has. Buffy deciding to show up in her head like a knight in shining armor has done little to change that. She looks down at her feet again. “Okay,” she says.

“Okay?” Buffy asks, perking up slightly.

Faith nods.

Buffy doesn’t say anything else, so Faith looks up. She’s looking at Faith with those big eyes again. It’s the kind of look that makes Faith want to lean in, to let Buffy smooth her hair and rub her back, let Buffy make her forget everything else.

Faith knows she should look away. There’s a reason people still fall in the Grand Canyon, after all. Anything that beautiful is dangerous. She forces herself to drop her eyes, slip behind the easy wall of sarcasm. “You know, we can’t even get along when I’m unconscious,” she points out.

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Buffy says, sounding pleased.

XXXXX

While Faith is in the shower, Buffy starts making notifications. The first person she calls is her mom. Joyce is already at work, and Buffy can imagine it’ll be pretty shocking if she comes home tonight and finds Faith sitting on the couch.

“Is everything okay, honey?” Joyce asks in concern when she picks up the extension at the gallery.

“Yeah,” Buffy hastens to assure her. “I just wanted to let you know we kind of have a houseguest.”

“Oh?”

“Faith showed up last night. She’s here now.”

Joyce digests that a minute. “Is she okay?”

“I think so,” Buffy answers. “She needs a little time to build up her strength again.”

“And do we want her to do that?” Joyce asks, sounding worried.

Buffy understands where the worry is coming from. “Yes,” she says. “She wants to make things right.”

There’s a brief pause, then Joyce says, “I know you don’t tell me everything about… that part of your life. You feel like you have to protect me, but I know how hard this past year has been on you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Buffy’s surprised. She thought she’d kept up a good cover with everything that happened earlier this year. “I can’t turn my back on her, Mom.”

“And I wouldn’t ask you to,” Joyce says immediately. “You know I was fond of Faith. If you want to help her, I’m on board. I just worry about you. That’s my job.”

“I know,” Buffy agrees. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Of course,” Joyce says. “I’ll bring home dinner for 8-10. That should feed you both, right?”

“Haha,” Buffy says.

“Anything else she needs?”

“Pretty much everything,” Buffy says. “If she’s feeling up for it, I’ll ask if she wants to go to the store later.”

“Okay,” Joyce agrees. “I’ll be home around six. You’ll call me if you need anything?”

“I will,” Buffy says. “See you later.”

With that call down, she dials the next number that she knows by heart.

Giles seems to be sitting by the phone, as he answers right away. “Hello?”

Buffy says, “Giles, it’s me.”

“Buffy,” Giles greets, his voice sounding a little strained.

She pauses, taken aback by his tone. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” he says, still sounding strange. “Have you had any luck with your search for Faith? The council has a team here now; evidently they’re looking for her as well. I’ve told them you’re searching for her.”

“Oh,” Buffy says, getting it now. “No, I haven’t had any luck yet. I’ll keep looking today.”

“Very good,” Giles says. “You’ll call me immediately if you hear anything?”

“Of course,” she says.

“Willow’s here with me,” he adds. “She’s leaving now to come meet you.”

“Okay,” Buffy agrees. “I’ll wait here for her.”

“Be careful today,” Giles says, finally sounding a bit more like himself.

“You too,” Buffy says, then gently sets the receiver down. With Joyce already at work, she’s alone on the first floor of the house. She checks the locks on the front and back doors, then goes upstairs. Back in her bedroom, she lowers the blinds on the windows. Inside her closet, she opens her weapons trunk and pulls out her crossbow, checking the bolts. She sets it on the bed, going back to rummage in the trunk again.

“Are we going slaying?” Faith asks, reentering her room with a towel around her. “And here I thought you were going to say I needed to be more than 48 hours out from a coma.”

“The council’s here,” Buffy says, emerging with a long sword. “They’re looking for you.”

The humor leaves Faith’s face. “Oh,” she says, her fingers tightening around the top of the towel.

Buffy sets the sword down on the bed.

“We’re going to fight the council?” Faith asks, sounding uncertain.

“I am,” Buffy clarifies, “if I have to.” She looks over at Faith’s white face. “They don’t know you’re here,” she says. “Everything’s okay.”

“That’s why you’re pulling out the weapons?”

“Just in case,” Buffy says. She comes to stand in front of Faith. “I won’t let them take you,” she says reassuringly.

Faith nods, still looking worried.

“Let me get you some clothes.” Buffy rifles quickly through her dresser, pulling out jeans, socks, and a long sleeved shirt. She pulls open her top drawer, adds a sports bra to her pile, and then hesitates for a second before plucking a new-ish pair of panties from the drawer. She holds out the bundle to Faith. “I didn’t know if you wanted—”

“It’s fine,” Faith says, taking the clothes.

“I thought we could go to the store and get some stuff for you today,” Buffy says, “but now…”

“I get it,” Faith says, holding the clothes in front of her chest. “This is fine.”

“Right,” Buffy agrees. “Well, I’ll let you get dressed.” She scoops up her crossbow in one hand, finger carefully off the trigger, and the sword in the other.

“I’m surprised they sent another team,” Faith says, before Buffy can make it out the door. “It didn’t work out so well when Wesley tried it.”

Buffy looks back at her. “Well, that’s the council for you. Never miss an opportunity to make a situation worse.”

Faith fidgets a little, still holding the clothes to her chest. Rivulets of water drip from the bottom of her long hair.

“What?” Buffy asks.

Hesitating, Faith doesn’t quite make eye contact. “I know I said I’d stay, but that was before we knew about the council showing up.”

“We can handle the council,” Buffy says, projecting confidence into her voice.

“How?” Faith asks.

“I find threats and violence typically work.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” Faith asks, meeting Buffy’s eyes. “They’re human.”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it?” Buffy suggests.

Faith rolls her eyes. “That’s not the—”

“I know,” Buffy cuts in. “We’ll handle it.”

She doesn’t exactly know _how_ they’ll handle it, but she knows that there’s no way in hell she’s going to let the council take Faith against her will. Not when she’s gotten this far with her.

Faith’s still standing in the middle of the room, damp, with Buffy’s clothes clutched in her arms. Buffy softens her resolve face a little. “Do you need help with your bandages?”

Faith lowers the bundle in her arms to show Buffy the area of her chest that was so inflamed the night before. It’s still red, still swollen, but less so. The small hole left behind by the IV tubing appears to be fully closed.

“How about the other one?” Buffy asks.

“It’s getting there,” Faith says. “I rebandaged it, but thanks.”

She looks so vulnerable and small that Buffy almost puts down the weapons and walks over to hug her. Then Faith turns away, placing the clothes down on the bed.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” Buffy says, waiting until Faith nods before she leaves, gently closing the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always welcome! Hope you enjoyed this update. :)


	8. Chapter 8

_“How about the other one?” Buffy asks._

_“It’s getting there,” Faith says. “I rebandaged it, but thanks.”_

_She looks so vulnerable and small that Buffy almost puts down the weapons and walks over to hug her. Then Faith turns away, placing the clothes down on the bed._

_“I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” Buffy says, waiting until Faith nods before she leaves, gently closing the door behind her._

Chapter Eight

The person in the mirror is beginning to look like her again, now that she’s had a real shower. Her skin feels clean, and her cheeks even have a bit of color in them. Her hair is curling around her face as it dries, a little bit wild, the way she likes it. All in all, she’s starting to look improved.

Faith releases the towel from where it’s tucked over her chest, shaking it loose from her body and running it gently over her hair again. Then she drops it to the floor where she stands and turns to look at the pile of clothing Buffy gave her.

The underwear are navy with little white hearts on them, bikini cut, similar to what Faith wears, although she wouldn’t have chosen this particular pattern. She plucks them from the pile and pauses. She’s definitely imagined situations in which she had access to Buffy’s panties, but being leant them wasn’t one of those situations. It’s strange. Everything about her life right now is strange though, and at least this is good strange. She bends over, hooking one foot then the other into the underwear, then pulls them up. She sees herself in the mirror, visible ribs, bandage still on her abdomen, scar most likely forming up by her collarbone, and turns away.

The rest of the borrowed clothes are similarly not quite her. The jeans are medium wash, the same shade Faith would have chosen, but the cut is different. Her boobs are a little squished in the sports bra Buffy provided, but it’s better than the girls swinging free all day. The shirt is fine, long sleeved and reddish pink, just plainer than she’d normally go for. She puts the socks on last, then stands up, fluffing her hair a little. It feels good to be dressed in something like normal clothes, even if they aren’t quite her style.

Stepping out of Buffy’s room into the hallway, Faith looks around as she moves toward the stairs. She hadn’t been in Buffy’s house for a few months before their last fight, but nothing’s changed. Family photos hang in the hall, along with some of that flowery pastel art Joyce likes so much. Faith takes the stairs slowly, still feeling somewhat unsteady on her feet.

She can hear Buffy in the kitchen and heads that way, her eyes automatically sweeping the first floor for anyone else. It looks like they’re alone in the house, and she finds Buffy arranging leftover pizza on a cookie sheet.

Buffy smiles when Faith comes in. “You hungry?”

Nodding, Faith takes a seat at the countertop.

Buffy finishes arranging the slices then lifts the sheet, sliding it into the oven. She sets a timer, then grabs two glasses from the cabinet. “You want something to drink?”

“Water’s fine,” Faith says agreeably.

Buffy sets the glasses down on the counter. They both hear a sound from the street out front and turn to look at the doorway.

It doesn’t make Faith feel super confident to see Buffy this on edge.

After a moment, Buffy shakes her head and goes back to getting them each a glass of water. She sets one in front of Faith.

“Thanks,” Faith says.

Buffy only has time to take a small sip from her glass before the doorbell rings.

Faith’s immediately on alert, her body tensing. Would the council ring the doorbell? Or would they just burst in with the manacles?

“It’s okay,” Buffy says, noticing the change in Faith’s body language. “It’s probably Willow.”

That doesn’t reassure Faith in the slightest. She knows she has to face Buffy’s friends eventually, but right now, she’d almost rather deal with the council.

Pausing before leaving, Buffy settles her palm warmly between Faith’s shoulder blades. “It’s going to be fine,” she says, “really.”

Faith kind of doubts that but she nods anyway. What else can she do?

Buffy disappears to answer the door, and Faith hears her greeting Willow. She waits in the kitchen uncertainly for a moment before finally getting off her stool. She can hear them talking as she comes through the dining room.

“We need to find Faith before the council guys do,” Willow says, sounding stressed out. “Giles was nervous. I could tell. These guys don’t look like Giles and Wesley.”

“What do you mean?” Buffy asks.

“They were wearing a lot of leather,” Willow answers, “and Giles seemed scared. He called them the wetworks team.”

Faith frowns. This is sounding less good by the moment. These don’t sound like the same guys she met before. She steps into the doorway between the foyer and the dining room, getting her first look at Willow. She’s wearing an ankle length skirt and a tight pink t-shirt, a backpack slung over her shoulder. “I brought some spell stuff,” Willow says, setting her backpack down beside her. “Maybe a locator spell?”

“Sounds like overkill,” Faith says from behind them, making Willow’s eyes jump to the doorway.

Leaning on the doorjamb, Faith folds her arms across her chest, attempting to look perfectly relaxed, even though she doesn’t feel it.

Buffy looks from her to Willow, who’s gone a bit pale. “Faith found me last night,” she offers, sounding apologetic. “I was calling to let Giles know.”

“Right,” Willow says, looking nervously at Faith. “Hi, Faith.”

“Willow,” Faith greets awkwardly, intentionally using her real name.

Buffy walks a little closer to Faith, as if in solidarity, and it bolsters her comfort level a bit. “Let’s go sit in the kitchen,” Buffy suggests.

Faith nods, turning and immediately heading back the way she came. As they walk, she can hear Buffy and Willow behind her again.

“I should have called you this morning,” Buffy says. “I’m sorry.”

Willow says, “I’m just glad you already found her.” Faith’s not sure she means it, but she does a pretty good job of sounding convincing.

In the kitchen, Faith goes back to her chair, and Buffy opens the stove, checking on the pizza. Deciding it looks good, she turns off the oven and timer, the picks up a pot holder. She pulls the pan free from the oven, setting it on top to cool down. “You want some pizza, Will?”

“No, thanks, I ate a late breakfast,” Willow says. “I met Tara.” She glances again at Faith as she says that, and Faith remembers what Buffy said about Tara and Willow.

After divvying up the pizza onto two plates, Buffy sets one down in front of Faith. “You want something to drink?” She asks Willow, setting her own plate down beside Faith’s.

“I got it,” Willow says, opening the fridge.

“So, what does Giles want us to do?” Buffy asks, then takes a hearty bite from her first piece of pizza.

Faith’s starving, so she follows her lead. When the first bite touches her lips, it’s hard not to moan out loud. Pizza is so good.

“He said he’d call later,” Willow says. “I think he meant once they’re gone. It sounded like they were going to go by the hospital and talk to some people.”

“Okay,” Buffy says, “so we sit tight until we hear from him. We can do that.”

Willow nods, but she looks anxious.

“There’s something else,” Buffy deduces.

Nodding again, Willow says, “They aren’t the only ones looking for her.” She glances at Faith then back at Buffy. “I’ve been checking the police scanner, in case there were any sightings, and I think they’re looking for Faith.”

Faith feels her heart sink, but she doesn’t want to show Willow how much this affects her. She exhales deeply, then picks up another piece of pizza and takes a bite.

“Is there a way to find out what they have on her?” Buffy asks, giving Willow a hopeful look.

Willow thinks. “Sunnydale PD has been switching to a digital system, so they might have a file on her. I could probably get into their system.”

“That would be great,” Buffy says, sounding extremely grateful.

“Let me grab my laptop,” Willow offers.

“I’ll get it,” Buffy says. “You sit.”

Willow looks as uncomfortable with the prospect of being left alone together as Faith feels, but Buffy’s gone before either can protest.

Popping the top on the soda she got from the fridge, Willow feigns an intense level of interest in her first sip.

Faith sets her pizza down. “Umm,” she says awkwardly, “thanks. For checking.”

“Oh,” Willow says, “sure.” She looks at the doorway, anxiously looking for a sign that Buffy’s returning.

She has a right to be nervous around Faith. It wasn’t that long ago that she was holding a knife to Willow’s throat and seriously thinking about plunging it in. But Faith knows that’s not really what Willow is holding against her. It’s what she did to hurt Xander and Buffy that really bothers her. “I’m not going to hurt her,” she says, in a quiet voice, because Buffy is undoubtedly on her way back by now.

Willow looks at her, no longer nervous, but serious. “I hope not,” she says.

That’s all they have time for, because Buffy’s coming back into the kitchen with Willow’s bag. She hands it over, then scoots onto the stool beside Faith, reaching for her plate.

Willow gets to work, her fingers flying across the keys.

It doesn’t seem like a chatting situation, which Faith isn’t exactly disappointed about. She eats her pizza slowly, focusing on the cheesy goodness in her mouth rather than letting herself be worried about what Willow will find once she’s in the records.

After a few minutes, Buffy gets impatient. “Any luck?” She asks.

“I think so,” Willow says, her forehead wrinkled in concentration.

Buffy gets up and looks over her shoulder.

Faith finishes the pizza, picking up her plate and Buffy’s and taking them to the sink. Now that she’s full and has nothing to distract her, she’s starting to feel antsy waiting for Willow to let them know what she’s seeing.

“They want to talk to Faith about a burglary,” Willow says, sounding surprised. “Nothing in here about…” she trails off. “Anything else.”

“What did I burgle?” Faith asks, coming around to stand beside Buffy.

Willow reads, “Meyer's Sport and Tackle.”

“Oh,” Faith says. “Yeah, I did.”

Buffy frowns. “As far as they know, we didn’t even steal anything.”

“We did trash a cop car and knock two of them out,” Faith points out reasonably.

Willow looks between the two of them. “You did _what_?”

Buffy gives her a pained smile. “A teeny, tiny B&E, but it was for slaying stuff. Then the cops came and we sort of… escaped.”

“By kicking our way out of the car,” Faith says. She leans past Buffy to look at the laptop. “Are they looking for Buffy too?”

Looking back at the screen, Willow clicks around, pulling up a different report. “Yes,” she says, “unknown minor female, blond, approximately 5’2”.”

“That’s me,” Buffy says sourly.

The phone rings. Buffy steps around Faith to grab it, her hand touching Faith’s hip as she maneuvers by.

It’s obvious that Willow notices because her eyes skip away from them and her cheeks become a little pink. Faith moves back to the other side of the counter while Buffy scoops up the phone.

“Hello?” She says. There’s a pause as she listens, and Buffy’s face goes from hopeful to concerned. “Okay,” she agrees. “We will. I’ll call you after.” She hangs up. “That was Giles,” she says. “The council guys are on their way here to talk to me.” She looks at Faith, “We need to hide you.”

Faith hasn’t been in a position where she’s had to hide from trouble for a long time now, and her initial reaction is to bristle at the idea. The look on Buffy’s face makes her swallow those objections. She nods.

“The attic,” Buffy suggests.

“I’ll go into the living room,” Willow says. “Keep watch.”

Buffy nods at her suggestion, and Willow closes her laptop. The three of them get up, heading back into the foyer. Buffy leads her upstairs as Willow goes into the living room. On the second floor landing, Buffy has to jump in order to catch the cord that pulls down the retractable stairs. The stairs come down with a resounding creak. Buffy glances up into the shadowy hole in the ceiling, frowning a little, then starts up the stairs.

Following her, Faith ducks as she goes so she doesn’t bump her head. The attic smells musty and is about half filled with boxes and storage bins.

“I’ll come back up as soon as they leave,” Buffy says, when Faith steps onto the partially finished floor with her. “You’ll be okay up here?”

“I think I can manage,” Faith says, glancing around. There’s a tiny window on each side of the attic, barely letting in enough light to see.

Rolling her eyes, Buffy says, “I just mean… I know this is hard for you—the hiding.”

Faith shrugs, running her fingers over a stack of boxes next to her. “It’s all good.”

Buffy doesn’t look particularly convinced, but she goes back down the stairs. She folds them up behind her, letting them snap back into place with a thud.

Sighing, Faith chooses a box about ass height and sits down to wait.

XXXXX

There are three of them, and they distribute themselves around her living room in a practiced matter, so that none of them have their backs to the doorway. The tall one introduces himself as Collins and seems to be the leader. The second is Smith, and the last, the one with very shrewd eyes, is Weatherby.

“So, Ms. Summers,” Collins says, once they’re situated, “you know why we’re here. We received word that Faith Lehane is awake.”

Buffy nods.

“The council wants us to bring her back to England,” Collins says. “So we can help her.”

“Help her?” Buffy asks. Giles referred to these three as the ‘wetworks’ team, and she may not be up on British people’s slang, but she’s pretty sure that one is the same across their countries.

“Rehabilitate her,” Weatherby volunteers. “So she can go back in the field.”

“How exactly do you rehabilitate a slayer?” Buffy asks.

Collins gives her an ‘aw shucks’ type of smile. “That’s above our pay grade,” he says. “We’re just the escorts.”

Buffy nods again, hoping she’s coming across as sincere. “Well, when I find her, I’ll let you know.”

“You have no idea where she could be?” Weatherby asks, his sharp eyes shifting between her and Willow.

To her credit, Willow offers nothing and doesn’t appear overly nervous.

“Not yet,” Buffy answers.

“Would you tell us if you did?” Smith asks, piping in for the first time.

Buffy turns her eyes to him. “You think I want Faith running around my town after everything she did?”

“No love lost between you then?” Collins asks. “I guess you _did_ put her in a coma.”

Buffy fights the urge to flinch. “I did what needed to be done,” she says. “And yes, if I knew where she was, I’d tell you.”

The three men stare at her for what feels like an interminably long time, then Collins gets to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Summers.”

Buffy and Willow stand as well.

“Giles knows how to contact us if you do spot her.”

“Thank you,” Buffy says. She leads them to the front door, opening it.

Collins passes through first, followed by Smith. Weatherby pauses a moment, then he smiles and tips his head before he resumes walking.

Buffy smiles back, closing the door behind him before she lets it drop from her face. She and Willow exchange worried looks.

“Do you think they bought that?” Willow asks, once they can see the three men climbing into a van at the curb.

“Not sure,” Buffy says, although really, she’s pretty sure they didn’t. “I don’t think we’ve seen the last of them.” She sighs. “This is the last thing we need.”

Willow gives her a sympathetic smile. “I’m guessing things are okay with you two, since, you know, Faith is here, and we’re hiding her from the council guys?”

Buffy gives a hesitant nod. “Mostly, I think,” she says.

Keeping her voice low, Willow asks, “She’s over the whole alternate universe thing?”

“‘Over it’ would be a strong estimation,” Buffy says with a wince.

“You’re talking though; that’s good.”

Buffy nods. “Yep,” she says, “already an improvement over much of Buffy and Faith history.” She glances at the stairs. “I’ll go tell her the coast is clear. Will you call Giles?”

“On it,” Willow says.

XXXXX

Faith falls asleep around half way through _Home Alone_ , which ordinarily would be unforgiveable because, hello, it’s a classic, but in this case Buffy can forgive her. They spent the afternoon with Willow, reviewing what the cops have on Faith for the break-in at Meyer’s. The answer is not much, but she guesses they probably don’t need that much when there are two cops who can pick her out of a lineup. Faith had been tense, both because of the subject matter and the proximity to Willow. They’d both obviously felt uncomfortable around each other, but Buffy has to give them credit. They were polite, and Faith thanked Willow for her help. Baby steps are still steps.

It’s just after dark now, and Faith is curled into a ball at the other end of the couch, her socked feet against Buffy’s thigh. The Christmas tree is lit up, soft blinking lights illuminating her sleeping face. For a moment she looks just like she did in the hospital, and Buffy has the irrational urge to shake her awake, just to make sure she can. Then Faith shifts slightly, curling one hand beneath her chin, and Buffy relaxes again.

Moving slowly so as not to disturb Faith, she reaches for the blanket on the back of the couch and pulls it free. She shakes the folds out and puts it over Faith, making sure her feet are covered. In spite of her earlier bravado, Buffy’s worried. The council’s interference messed up their chance to get through to Faith once. She can’t let that happen again, not now that they’re finally forging a tentative relationship. Buffy never felt like she did enough to help Faith the first go around. Her time in the other world only cemented that feeling. Those moments with the other Faith were unexpected but amazing. They were something she didn’t know she needed until she had them in her hand. And they gave her the push to find her way back to this Faith, _her_ Faith. Now, Faith’s awake and she’s willing to stay here, willing to be back on the same side, after everything that’s happened. Buffy just has to find a way to stop the council from ruining everything.

Faith’s eyes snap open with startling quickness at the first sound of her mom’s Jeep pulling up out front. Buffy puts her arm out, hand landing lightly on Faith’s knee. “It’s okay,” she says. “It’s just my mom.”

“Oh,” Faith says, relaxing slightly. She looks down at the blanket covering her and gives Buffy a slight smile. “Sorry I passed out.”

Buffy shrugs. “We can watch it some other time.”

Sitting up, Faith swings her legs over the edge of the couch. “You sure your mom is cool with me being here?” She asks, smoothing her rumpled hair down.

“Totally cool,” Buffy assures her. “I’m gonna see if she needs any help,” she says, standing up.

Faith nods, seeming nervous again at the prospect of facing Buffy’s mom.

By the time Buffy makes it to the front door, Joyce is half way up the walk with a giant bag of Chinese takeout and about four other bulging bags of stuff. Buffy hurries over, relieving Joyce of some of them. “How much food did you _get_?” She teases.

Joyce rolls her eyes. “I picked up a few things for Faith,” she says, gesturing to the shopping bags now in Buffy’s arms. She leads the way back in the house, turning toward the dining room. The two of them unload the bags onto the dining table, Buffy peeking in them as she puts them down. Joyce appears to have gone a little overboard, coming home with a hoodie, several t-shirts, sweatpants, socks, and even underwear. Buffy raises an eyebrow at her mom.

“You said she didn’t have anything,” Joyce says defensively. “She needs some things to get her started.”

“Do I smell Chinese?” Faith asks, appearing in the doorway. She has an easy smile on her face, her shoulders back and loose. It’s a stark change from how she looked even a minute ago in the living room. Buffy recognizes what she’s doing—this is Faith’s armor. She acts unbothered about everything, cool and aloof, so no one will know that she’s internally freaking out. It both makes her feel all warm that Faith has been allowing her to see beyond that, and frustrated by how easily she falls back into this pattern.

“Hi, honey,” Joyce says, immediately walking over to Faith and giving her a hug.

Faith looks surprised by this spontaneous display of affection, but she wraps her arms loosely around Joyce.

“How are you feeling?” Joyce asks, pulling back and fixing her with a concerned look.

“I’m fine, Mrs. S, thanks,” Faith says.

Joyce looks her up and down, and Buffy knows she’s seeing the same thing Buffy is: the too thin face, the bruised skin under her protruding collarbone, visible under the v-neck of her shirt. “You sound like Buffy,” she says. “‘I’m fine, Mom, just a little concussion, just a little dislocated shoulder.’”

“It was just a little coma,” Faith assures her, smirking.

Sighing, Joyce gestures toward the table. “I stopped at the store. I can return whatever doesn’t fit, or isn’t your style.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Faith protests, but Buffy thinks she looks a little pleased.

“Well, honey, you need to have clothes of your own,” Joyce points out reasonably.

Faith nods. “Thanks,” she says, sounding a little uncomfortable.

“Of course,” Joyce says, waving off her thanks. She looks at Buffy. “Will you grab some plates and forks for us?”

Buffy nods, going to grab the supplies from the kitchen.

“I’ll help,” Faith volunteers quickly, following her.

When they’re alone in the kitchen, Buffy smirks. “You just didn’t want her to fuss over you,” she says.

“Untrue,” Faith says. “I love when women fawn over me.”

Buffy rolls her eyes. “You realize that’s my mother.”

Grinning, Faith gives her a speculative look. “Your mom’s a pretty lady—”

Covering Faith’s mouth with her hand, Buffy says, “I beg of you, stop talking.”

Before Faith can move, they both hear the sound of footsteps out front. Buffy drops her hand from Faith’s mouth, already walking toward the dining room.

“I’ll get it!” Joyce calls as they hear a knock at the door.

“Mom, no,” Buffy calls back, coming through the dining room with Faith on her heels. She grabs the sword she’s stashed behind the doorway on her way. Unfortunately Joyce is already in the foyer, opening the door.

Buffy reaches back, trying to push Faith out of view of the front door, but it’s too late. The council special operations team stands on the doorstep.

XXXXX

“Can I help—hey!” Joyce protests, as Weatherby takes her arm and pushes her gently back. The three of them step in, uninvited.

“Mrs. Summers, I presume,” Collins says to Joyce, smiling pleasantly. He glances over at them. “Ms. Summers, I see you found Ms. Lehane.”

Willow’s description was pretty accurate. These three don’t look like the men who came with Wesley to pick her up. Their vibe is completely different. The house, just moments ago warm and comfortable, feels heavy and tense. Faith can feel her heart beating too hard in her chest.

Buffy must sense the uptick in Faith’s pulse, because she squeezes her wrist softly where it’s still held in her grasp.

“Maybe you were just about to call us,” Smith suggests dryly.

“Oh no,” Collins says, looking attentively at Buffy. “Didn’t you see those hospital records, Smith? Our Ms. Summers has been quite devoted to Ms. Lehane of late. She wasn’t going to call us.”

Buffy’s mouth tightens in anger, but she doesn’t respond, standing resolutely between Faith and the three men.

“Who are you?” Joyce demands.

“So sorry,” Collins says, looking back at Joyce. “We’re the Watcher’s Council, ma’am. I trust you know about us, given that your daughter is fundamentally incapable of keeping the secret of her sacred duty?”

Joyce bristles. “I know who you are, you—”

“Mom,” Buffy cuts in, “it’s okay. Why don’t you and Faith take the food in the kitchen and start without me?”

Weatherby squeezes Joyce’s arm, not roughly, but not gently either. “No need to rush off,” he says.

Buffy’s body tenses at the sight of his hand on her mother’s arm. Faith’s half behind her, and she can hear Buffy’s heartbeat pick up. Joyce still looks angry. The fear hasn’t yet set in.

“So what’s your play here?” Buffy asks.

Faith mentally sizes up the three of them. No visible weapons, but she has to assume they’re armed to the teeth under those jackets. They’ve spread themselves out slightly, with Weatherby the furthest away. She’s weakened, but Buffy’s at full strength. Between the two of them, can they take the three of them without Joyce getting hurt?

“No play,” Collins says. “We’ll be escorting Ms. Lehane back to England as we told you earlier.”

Faith has no idea what the council’s ultimate game plan is. What are they going to do with her when they get her to England? She just knows she doesn’t want to find out.

“I don’t think so,” Buffy says.

Collins smiles pleasantly. “I don’t much care what you think.”

Looking at him with disgust plain in her face, Buffy says, “So, you came here to take Faith.” She purses her lips, pretending to ponder this. “You’re expecting she’ll be a little weak from the whole coma thing. Should be an easy job. Back in jolly old England by tea time tomorrow.” She smiles at them. “Only Faith’s not alone.”

Collins frowns. “Ms. Summers—”

“Do you really think you can take two slayers?” Buffy asks. “Because I’m telling you right now, the only way you’re taking her out of this house is over my dead body.”

Buffy’s dead body is not a scenario Faith’s willing to consider. “Buffy,” she says from behind her, worried.

“How about over your mother’s?” Weatherby suggests. Joyce winces as he squeezes her arm. Before either slayer can move, he produces a gun from behind his back, flipping the safety off.

Faith’s eyes flick to Joyce’s face. She looks concerned, but mostly level headed, saying nothing. Panic flares in Faith’s stomach. She can’t let this happen.

“Leave her out of this,” Buffy says, her voice dangerously low.

“I’d love to,” Collins says. “I’d love to leave you both out of this. This doesn’t concern you, Ms. Summers. The council has no quarrel with you, even though you’ve decided to reject thousands of years of expertise and history. We’ll wait for your replacement. I’m sure she’ll be more grateful for our help.” He nods to Smith, who steps closer to the two slayers, pulling handcuffs from his belt.

“Grateful?” Buffy sneers. Her sword comes up, tip pointing precisely at Smith’s heart. “One more step and you’ll be shish kabob,” she says, not taking her eyes off Collins. “You’re pathetic little men, playing with forces beyond your control. You have no real power and you can’t stand that. That’s why you put slayers through barbaric tests. That’s why you were too short sighted to help me find a cure for Angel, even though he was here, on the ground, helping me stop the ascension.”

“Would that be the ascension Ms. Lehane helped bring to fruition?” Weatherby asks, sounding bored.

Buffy’s face is red. “You aren’t taking her,” she repeats. “We aren’t your property. We don’t answer to you.”

“B,” Faith says again, watching as Weatherby’s index finger itches toward the trigger of his pistol, “it’s okay.” She steps out from behind Buffy, moving to her side. She gives Joyce a reassuring nod, then tries to step away.

Buffy’s hand tightens on her wrist. She shakes her head. “No,” she says. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I do,” Faith says. She can’t let Buffy and Joyce get hurt for her. With her other hand, she gently pries Buffy’s fingers off her arm. “I’ll be okay,” she says softly, her voice only for Buffy. “I’ll see you soon.”

Buffy shakes her head again, but Faith turns away, stepping in the path of the sword and presenting her wrists to Smith.

He cuffs her, not overly gently. “All set,” he says.

“Lovely,” Weatherby says. “Mrs. Summers, if you’d be so kind as to escort us to our van.”

The group of them make their way outside, Faith walking beside Smith. Weatherby guides Joyce, his hand still on her arm, pistol pointed at her. Buffy follows them, fury radiating off her with every move. It’s enough to scare Faith, so she can’t imagine the impact it must have on three average humans, but if the council team is concerned, they don’t show it.

Collins opens the back door of the van. Although every part of her body is screaming at her to hit him and run, Faith grits her teeth and climbs inside. She has to play along until Joyce and Buffy are safe, then she’ll make her move. Sitting on the cold metal seat, she lets Collins slip stronger manacles around her wrists and chain her to a metal ring under the lip of the seat.

Smith starts the van.

“Ready,” Collins says.

Weatherby stands at the open door, Joyce still held in front of his body. Beyond them, Faith sees Buffy standing in the street. Her face is white with anger, her body rigid. Her gaze is focused wholly on Weatherby. “I’m going to find you,” she says. “There is nowhere you can run that’s far enough.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to slow you down,” Weatherby says. He turns the gun, aiming at Buffy and shooting her in the thigh. A small dart protrudes from her leg, with a fuzzy blue tip. He shoves Joyce bodily away from him, then steps backward into the van, not bothering to close the doors before yelling up front, “Go!”

Faith’s last glimpse before he manages to shut the door is of Buffy crumbling to the ground in her mother’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave it to the watcher's council to ruin a perfectly nice family dinner... Comments always appreciated! :D


	9. Chapter 9

_Beyond them, Faith sees Buffy standing. Her face is white with anger, her body rigid. Her gaze is focused wholly on Weatherby. “I’m going to find you,” she says. “There is nowhere you can run that’s far enough.”_

_“Then I guess I’ll have to slow you down,” Weatherby says. He turns the pistol, aiming at Buffy and shooting her in the thigh. A small dart protrudes from her leg, with a fuzzy blue tip. He shoves Joyce bodily away from him, then steps backward into the van, not bothering to close the doors before yelling up front, “Go!”_

_Faith’s last glimpse before he manages to shut the door is of Buffy crumbling to the ground in her mother’s arms._

Chapter Nine

The world comes back into focus in pieces, starting with the pounding in her head. She opens her eyes, seeing her friends gathered around the living room, talking animatedly. It sounds like they’re underwater, and she can’t quite make out what anyone’s saying. She feels for the couch cushion edge, grips it, and tries to haul herself up, sliding ungracefully to the living room floor.

Her sense of hearing rushes back as she hits the ground, just in time to hear Xander’s alarmed voice. “Buffy!” He stoops, taking her arm.

“I’m okay,” Buffy says, her voice slightly slurred.

Xander lifts most of her weight for her, and together they resituate her back on the couch. Her mother comes to sit beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders tightly.

“What do we know?” Buffy asks, her voice starting to sound a little clearer.

“They’ll need to get her to the airport or the docks,” Willow says. She’s sitting in the armchair across from Buffy, typing on her laptop. Tara perches on the edge of her chair, looking out of place. “I’m looking for security cam footage, trying to track where they went when they left here.”

“What will they do to her if they get her there?” Buffy asks, turning her eyes to Giles.

“They’ll review her case and render a verdict,” he says, sounding worried. “I’m not sure exactly. This almost never happens.”

“I need to find her,” Buffy says, making another attempt to get off the couch.

Joyce tightens her arm around her, easily holding Buffy in place. “Give yourself a minute,” she says, sounding concerned.

“I don’t have a minute,” Buffy says.

“You’ll be no good to Faith if you can’t walk,” Giles points out reasonably.

Buffy’s not in the mood for reason. “I can walk,” she says, gritting her teeth. She grabs Xander’s forearm and looks at him pointedly.

He looks like he agrees with the others, but takes her arm with his other hand and helps her stand. He doesn’t release her right away, making sure she isn’t going to fall back over.

After a moment, Buffy says, “I’m good.”

Hesitating a second, Xander nods and releases her.

“I still don’t understand why we’re trying to get her back,” Anya says in her usual blunt manner. “She tried to kill all of us.”

“I seem to remember you bailing before graduation,” Buffy says icily, “so it wasn’t really ‘all of us.’”

“Buff,” Xander says softly.

“What?” Buffy says. “Anyone who doesn’t want to help knows where the door is.”

Xander frowns but he doesn’t say anything else. He moves to Anya’s side, shaking his head at her as she opens her mouth to respond.

Leaving the room without another word, Buffy hauls herself upstairs, gripping the banister tightly went she feels a little wobbly. She heads for her room, opening the closet door. Rooting through her weapons chest, she starts to methodically review her options. A yawara sits in her sleeve, then she clips on a thigh holster, tucking in a wicked looking blade. As she comes back out, she sees Giles standing in the doorway to her room, his arms crossed.

“You got something?” Buffy asks, sitting down so she can pull on her boots.

“Willow’s still working on it,” he says. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Buffy says shortly. She zips her boots, then slides a stake in the right one.

“What will you do when you find them?” Giles asks. He looks worried, his glasses off and dangling in one hand.

“Whatever I have to.”

“They’re human,” he reminds her in a soft voice.

“So is Faith,” Buffy says, standing up and flexing her muscles experimentally. She feels strong. The drugs are wearing off.

“We should make a plan,” Giles starts, but Buffy cuts him off.

“We don’t have time to sit here and make plans, Giles,” she says. “She needed help before, and the council ruined any chance we had with her.” She plucks a hair tie off her dresser, beginning to tie her hair up in a tight bun. “She’s starting to trust me. If I don’t get her back now, there will never be another chance.”

“I understand that, but—”

“No,” Buffy says firmly, “you don’t. I’ve been in her head. I’ve felt what she feels. If they push her over the edge… Giles, they’ll destroy her.”

Giles nods reluctantly, stepping out of her way. “The docks are more likely,” he says.

“Then I’ll start there.”

From downstairs, Willow calls, “Buffy!”

Buffy heads downstairs, Giles hot on her heels.

Holding out her laptop, Willow shows them the screen. “I think this is them,” she says. It’s a non-descript van at a stoplight, but it looks like two men are in the front seat. It could be them. “They turned left at Maple Court,” Willow says.

Buffy looks at Giles. “The docks.”

He nods.

Looking back to Willow, Buffy says, “Call Riley. Tell him I need back up. Ask if he’ll help.”

Willow nods, stepping forward to give Buffy a quick hug.

Over Willow’s shoulder, Buffy looks at her mom. “I’ll be back.”

Joyce’s mouth trembles, but she nods. “Be careful.”

XXXXX

The van is parked in some kind of warehouse. Faith tried to keep track of where they were going on the way here, but the windows in the back are tinted darker than is strictly legal, and she couldn’t make out enough details. It’s dark in the van, although she can see some overhead lighting beyond the windows. The council guys are still nearby, talking in angry, hushed tones, which somewhat hampers her ability to execute an escape plan. So far she’s tried reasoning with them, which didn’t work in the slightest, and breaking the chains free from the manacles on her wrist. They’re just a bit too strong.

So now, she’s focusing on the weak point in this whole bondage operation: the joint where the metal ring she’s chained to meets the seat. She’s been putting weight on the ring, first one side, then the other, for the last 15 minutes or so. It’s beginning to feel just slightly loose. Faith thinks she has a good chance of getting free, assuming they leave her alone long enough. The metal is beginning to make a slight groaning sound with each push.

From there, she’ll try to make a break for it. It might be safer to wait until they come back to the van and get the jump on them, but they have tranqs, and they’re human besides. She knows self-defense isn’t like what she’s done in past, but something still doesn’t sit right about the idea of incapacitating these three. Anything could go wrong, especially with her still getting used to her body after all those months out of commission. She could slip and hurt one of them seriously, kill him even. She’s not sure she should take the risk.

Footsteps approach the back of the van. Immediately withdrawing her hands from the ring she’s chained to, Faith settles them in her lap. She sets her eyes on the door and waits.

Smith opens the door, peering in at her cautiously. “Thought I heard noises from in here,” he says, looking around the interior of the van.

Faith shrugs noncommittally, hoping he’ll go away quickly so she can resume her attempts to break out.

He frowns at her again, beginning to close the door. Before he succeeds, a slim arm comes from behind him, fixing over his throat.

Buffy wrestles him backward, slowly cutting off his air supply as he struggles futilely to get free. His empty hands smack uselessly at her arm, face turning a shade of purple. Faith’s beginning to wonder if she should say something, suggest that Buffy let him go before she does something she can’t take back, when the distinctive sound of a gun cocking makes itself known.

Buffy freezes.

“Let him go,” Collins says, moving around from behind Buffy so he can keep both slayers in his line of vision.

Making a show of reluctance, Buffy releases Smith. As he sinks down to his knees, she kicks him hard from behind, sending him sprawling at Collins. Then she plucks the knife strapped to her thigh loose, and flings it at Collins. It lands dead center in his bicep, and the gun clatters to the ground as he shrieks in pain. Buffy closes in on him, and Faith sees the dark wood of a yawara in her hand.

Smith reaches for her foot as she passes, and Buffy swings down brutally, striking his collarbone with her yawara. A muted cracking sound is audible over the sound of Smith’s groan. Following that with a kick to the face, Buffy effectively puts him down for the count. She turns to Collins, striding forward and grasping the hilt of her knife still embedded in his arm.

The side door of the van is yanked open, and Weatherby clambers in, gun trained on Faith. “Stop!” He shouts.

Buffy looks over, meeting his gaze. Then she casually rips the knife free, ignoring Collins’s subsequent scream.

Weatherby’s smart; Faith’ll give him that. He knows exactly how far her chains let her move, and stays just outside of her range. He says to Buffy, “Move,” and jerks his head in the opposite direction of Collins.

Eying him distastefully, Buffy says, “Go ahead and tranq her. I can carry her. Your friends here are going to be learning to write with their toes when I’m done with them though.”

The gun swings from Faith, and Weatherby fires at the ground near Buffy, the sound of the shot ringing through the warehouse. “The real deal this time,” he says, having demonstrated that. The gun trains back on Faith.

Buffy takes a few steps away from Collins, holding her hands out and empty for Weatherby to see.

“All this effort,” Weatherby says, “for _her_.” He gestures with the gun in Faith’s direction, bringing it level with her face and making her shrink back. “Do you even know all the things she’s done?”

“Yes,” Buffy says simply, seeming unimpressed.

“Do you care?” Weatherby asks, sounding disgusted.

“Most of what she did could have been avoided if you and your buddies stayed on the other side of the ocean where you belong,” Buffy points out.

Weatherby shakes his head. “You can keep making excuses for her, but I know better.” He looks at Faith, his lip curling into a sneer. “The Watcher's Council used to mean something. You perverted it. You trash. We should have killed you while you were in a coma.”

Anger flares in her veins at his words. “Uncuff me,” Faith says, “and you can try it now.”

“Looks like the rehab is off to a great start,” Buffy adds. “I can’t imagine how this could possibly go wrong.”

“Ms. Summers,” Collins says, having recovered slightly. He stoops to pick up his gun with his uninjured arm. “So nice to see you again.” He looks down at Smith, still sucking in air like it’s going out of style, and takes a step around him, raising his gun at Buffy. “You do appear to be outgunned however.”

Buffy appears to notice the red dot on Weatherby’s chest at the same time Faith does. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she says, sounding gleeful.

Craning her neck to see more of the warehouse, Faith sees three people in tactical gear step out of the shadows. They wear camo pants and dark boots, with green long sleeved shirts and thick vests. Two are wearing masks and goggles. The ring leader, she recognizes.

“Unlock the girl,” Riley says, his voice calm and authoritative. He’s holding a gun, but the barrel is pointed at the ground. The commando to his right has his gun up, pointed at Weatherby’s chest.

Buffy crosses her arms, a shit eating grin taking up residence on her face.

Collins takes in the situation, not appearing overly bothered by this development. “I don’t think so,” he says.

Riley keeps the gun at his side. “Faith Lehane is being remanded into the custody of the United States Army.”

The smile falls off Buffy’s face. “What are you doing?” She demands, now turning away from Collins and toward Riley. _Okay,_ Faith thinks, _so this isn’t part of the plan then._

“The army doesn’t arrest civilians,” Collins says, ignoring Buffy completely.

Riley nods to the commando on his left, who steps forward with a folded bunch of papers. “My unit has special dispensation,” he says.

Collins reluctantly moves his gun to his injured hand, and accepts the proffered papers, opening them and skimming the topmost sheet. “Initiative 718,” he reads. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s all in there,” Riley says flatly. “Take your time. Just know, if you do anything further to interfere with her apprehension, we’ll take you in as well.” He glances at Buffy when he says that.

“Don’t do this,” Buffy says, her voice half threat, half plea.

“I’m just doing my job,” Riley says, giving her a hard look. He looks back to Collins. “Unlock her,” he says, “now.”

Collins glances into the van Weatherby. They stare at one another for a moment, then Collins jerks his head in Faith’s direction.

To say Weatherby looks pissed would be an understatement, but he holsters his weapon. Pulling Faith’s hands out of her lap roughly, he crouches down, then unlocks the chain holding her to the ring.

Faith flexes her fingers. “Thanks,” she says sweetly, then locks her fists together and jerks them upward, hitting Weatherby squarely in the chin and snapping his head back. He falls backward, landing against the opposite side of the van. “I can get the rest myself.” Faith plucks the keys free from his hand as he shakes his head, completely dazed.

She jumps down from the back of the van, fiddling with the key to unlock her manacles.

Buffy starts to move toward her but stops abruptly when the commando to Riley’s left raises his gun. A little red dot appears over her left breast.

“Easy,” Riley says. “Everybody just take it easy.”

Collins looks entirely too pleased with this development. “Best of luck to you with this one,” he says, gesturing at Faith. He holds the paperwork back out to Riley. “She may look like just a girl, but she isn’t.”

“I know exactly what she is,” Riley says, taking the papers from his hand.

Collins shrugs as if to say this is his funeral.

The third commando has his gun trained on Faith.

“Let’s move out to transpo,” Riley says, lifting his gun for the first time. A second dot joins the first on Faith’s chest.

Buffy and Faith glance at each other as they start to move. Buffy inclines her head toward Riley, then cuts her eyes toward the commando still holding a blaster on her. Faith gets the play immediately. She’ll take Riley; Buffy will take the one closer to her. She starts to nod, when the commando nearest to Buffy says, “Nice and easy.”

Buffy instantly relaxes. It takes Faith another second to realize why, then she does likewise.

Riley stands back, letting his team shuffle the two slayers closer to the exit. As Buffy passes by, she says, “This isn’t over.”

“It is for you,” Riley says back.

The two of them walk to the exit, commandos at their backs. Faith winces as the bright sunlight meets her eyes. There’s a black armored truck outside, and one of the commandos steps around them to open the back. “Up,” he says.

Faith goes first, followed by Buffy and the last commando. She waits until the door closes behind them before she lets herself breathe a sigh of relief.

Flinging herself past Faith, Buffy throws her arms around Willow, who sits grinning in the back of the truck. “You are a genius,” she says into Willow’s hair.

“It was mostly Tara,” Willow says.

Buffy releases Willow and hugs the other woman sitting beside her.

“Thank you, Tara,” Buffy says. “Thank you both.”

They hear two more doors closing, then the truck starts to move.

The commando who’d had his gun trained on her reaches behind his head to pull his mask off. Giles mops his brow with the mask. “Thank you indeed,” he says to Tara. “What was really on that paperwork?”

“A term paper,” Tara says with a shy smile, ducking her chin toward her chest.

“She used an illusion spell,” Willow tells Buffy and Faith excitedly.

From the front of the truck, the small window into the cab slides open. “Everybody okay back there?” Xander asks.

A chorus of yeses sounds from the back of the truck.

Buffy leans toward the window, looking into the cab. She reaches through, putting a hand on Riley’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she says sincerely.

Riley nods somewhat stiffly. Faith thinks he’s definitely still got a thing for Buffy, and probably hoping this rescue operation is going to earn him another shot.

“You’ll need to lay low for a few days,” Giles says, “until we can confirm that the team has gone back to England.”

Laying low is all she wants to do at the moment anyway. Faith nods in agreement.

As Buffy turns to talk to Willow and Tara, Giles looks at Faith. “It’s good to see you,” he says softly, sounding sincere.

Faith manages an uncomfortable smile.

“You’re planning to stay in Sunnydale?”

She hesitates. “Do you not want—”

“No,” Giles says quickly. “I think you should.”

“Right,” Faith says, not entirely convinced. “I don’t really have any other engagements at the moment, so…” Faith is saved from further attempts at conversation with Giles by Buffy sitting back and bumping into her shoulder.

Faith looks over at her, a slight smile curling the corner of her lip. “You’ve really upgraded the cavalry.”

Buffy laughs. “Don’t get used to this,” she says, gesturing around the back of the truck. “We mostly still do things the old fashioned away.”

“Except Giles,” Willow puts in. “He’s unemployed since… uh…” She trails off, looking anxiously at Buffy.

Since they blew up the school, and the boss with it. “You enjoying the life of leisure now, G?” Faith asks, trying to sound unaffected.

Thankfully, he goes with it. “Well, leisure is a strong word,” he starts.

“He has a girlfriend,” Buffy cuts in, leaning past Faith to look at Giles with wide eyes.

“I do not have—”

“She’s younger,” Buffy adds.

Giles sighs.

Faith gives him an appraising glance, trying, and failing, to keep the smirk off her face.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Giles mutters. He ignores them both, raising his voice. “Any sign that they’re following us?” He asks.

Xander holds a tablet up to the open window, showing the side of the warehouse in black and white. “They haven’t left the warehouse.”

“You guys left a camera there?” Buffy asks, confused.

“Just a little one,” Riley says. “They’ll never notice it.”

Buffy asks more questions, but Faith begins to tune all their voices out. She’s tired, now that the adrenaline is wearing off. She’s starting to feel the soreness in her arms from struggling against the manacles. She blinks tiredly, noticing after a moment that the new girl is staring at her.

Tara smiles shyly.

It’s a nice smile, a little crooked. Everyone else is talking over one another, three different conversations going on at once, like usual with Buffy and her friends. Tara looks like she feels as overwhelmed as Faith does. Faith gives her a small smile back, then she closes her eyes, leaning her head against the wall. She won’t sleep, but at least this way, no one will talk to her.

By the time they pull up in front of Buffy’s house, Faith’s more than ready to jump out of the truck. Riley doesn’t kill the engine, but he and Xander both get out, the former coming around to open the back of the truck. As they all pile out, Buffy turns to her, seeming to sense how much she wants to get away. “Will you let Mom know we’re okay? I’ll be in in a sec.”

Faith nods, muttering an awkward thank you to the group before she makes her escape. She expects to be headed in alone, but realizes Xander’s right behind her. She looks at him questioningly as they step onto the front porch.

“I have to get my—uh, Anya’s here,” he says, sounding nervous.

Faith nods, and he starts to reach for the doorknob.

“Xander,” she says impulsively.

He turns back.

“Thanks,” Faith says, stuffing her hands in her pockets, “for coming.”

“Sure,” he says. He waits to see if she has anything else to say, then reaches for the knob again.

Faith almost lets him go, then she says, “Xander.”

He pauses again, looking at her face and then away. “Yeah?”

“I wanted to say,” she starts, her throat suddenly feeling tight, “I’m sorry. About before. When you came to my room.”

Xander swallows hard, looking down at the floor.

She doesn’t know what she expects him to say. _It’s okay?_ She attacked him. Might have killed him if it weren’t for Angel. How can a person forgive that?

“Thanks,” Xander says instead, sounding less nervous.

Faith nods uncomfortably, then gestures for him to go ahead of her inside.

Reaching again for the doorknob, Xander turns it, then pauses before pushing the door inward. “It’s good that you’re back,” he says, then heads inside.

Faith’s surprised, but after a moment, she follows him.

Joyce is already squeezing Xander’s arm, looking past him for the rest of them. She sees Faith and relief spreads across her face. “Are you okay?” she says, giving Faith a loose hug.

“I’m good,” Faith says, even though she feels like she needs to sleep for the next 48 hours. “Buffy’s outside. She’ll be in in a minute.”

“You must be hungry,” Joyce starts to say, turning when Xander touches her shoulder lightly.

“We’re going to take off,” Xander says, arm around Anya.

Anya looks at Faith sourly, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Okay,” Joyce says. “I’ll see you on Friday?”

“We’ll be here,” Xander agrees. He glances at Faith, mustering up a polite smile. “Goodnight.”

“Be careful going home,” Joyce says.

“We will,” Xander promises, opening the door for Anya.

When the door is closed once more, Joyce smiles at Faith. “I’ll go heat up the food,” she says, squeezing her arm softly before she disappears into the dining room.

Faith takes a deep breath when she’s finally alone in the foyer. It feels like her life is moving at lightning speed since she woke up. It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate the way Buffy’s mom and her friends are showing up for her. She does. It’s just… a lot. The whole world’s kept on moving, but she’s been stuck in one place for six months. Now she’s back in the real world, but she still feels like one of those animals in the tar pits, sinking in little by little.

It’s easier when it’s just her and Buffy. Maybe it’s a slayer thing. Maybe it’s the time they spent together in their heads; Faith doesn’t know. She just knows she feels like she can breathe when it’s just them. She doesn’t have to talk if she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t have to smile or pretend to be some better version of herself. There’s no point in doing that anyway, because Buffy knows too many of her secrets now.

Walking over to the door, she peers out the window beside it. Xander and Anya are getting into his car. Giles is pulling away from the curb, Willow and Tara with him. Buffy’s standing beside the truck, her arms crossed. She’s pulled her hair free of its bun and it cascades down her back. As the others take their leave, she and Riley stand there talking in the dark. They’re close together, and Faith thinks he must see the same things she does. The way the streetlights shine on Buffy’s hair, the brilliance of her smile, the quiet strength that radiates from her even when she isn’t slaying.

Something sour starts in Faith’s stomach, and she finds her hands clenching into fists. Buffy’s into that whole knight in shining armor shit. Maybe she’ll start to think twice about rebuffing Riley after this.

Buffy’s coming up the walk now, and Faith backs away from the door, flexing her hands to relax them. When the door opens, she glances over in surprise, as if she were just passing through the foyer, not waiting here for Buffy.

“Hey,” Buffy says.

“Hey.” Faith doesn’t get a chance to say more, because she’s almost bowled over by the force of Buffy pushing her way into her arms. She manages to steady herself, then puts her arms around Buffy.

“Are you okay?” Buffy asks, pulling back enough to look at her.

The knots in Faith’s stomach ease up. “Five by five,” she says.

Buffy gets her an ‘are you serious’ look. “You were abducted by the council.”

Faith shrugs. “You un-abducted me.” Buffy’s close, so close. It would be so easy for Faith to lift her hands to Buffy’s hair and kiss her. She knows exactly how it would feel, Buffy’s mouth pushing back against hers, her breath catching at the beginning of the kiss.

Buffy says, “I think it was mostly Riley and the fake Initiative arrest.”

Right. Faith disentangles herself from Buffy. “I’m fine, either way.”

She looks a little confused by Faith pulling away, but Buffy nods. “Good.”

“Your mom’s heating up dinner.”

“Awesome,” Buffy says with renewed enthusiasm. “I’m starving. I’m just gonna put my stuff away and I’ll be down.” She shakes a stake out of her sleeve.

Faith watches her go, the unsettled feeling back in her stomach. She turns into the dining room, hoping she can at least smother it with food.

XXXXX

When Buffy comes back to her bedroom, her face washed and teeth brushed, Faith is sitting on the edge of her bed, looking a little uncomfortable. Maybe it’s the avocado pajamas Buffy leant her while her new stuff is in the wash. Faith stands up immediately.

“Uh,” Faith says, “should I go to the couch?”

“No,” Buffy says quickly. “If you don’t want to share, I’ll take the couch. You should stay here.”

Faith hesitates a second, then she says, “We can share.”

She doesn’t look entirely thrilled at the prospect. Buffy tries not to let that hurt her feelings. It was just this morning that they argued again about Buffy and the other Faith. Faith’s probably still upset about that. “I don’t mind taking the couch,” Buffy offers again, trying to give her space.

Shrugging, Faith says, “You don’t have to give up your bed. If you don’t mind sharing, I don’t either.”

“Okay,” Buffy says uncertainly. She walks around to the other side of the bed and pulls back the covers. Faith’s been quiet since they got back from the docks, letting Joyce and Buffy keep up the conversation at dinner. Buffy doesn’t know if she’s just tired, or if there’s more to it. She thinks about asking, but Faith gets in the other side and pulls the covers up. She closes her eyes right away.

“Goodnight,” Buffy says softly.

Faith mumbles a goodnight back to her. Frowning, Buffy reaches over and turns off the light. It feels weird to skip patrol. She can’t remember the last time she did that, but Giles asked them to lay low for the next few days. It should also feel weird to have Faith lying here next to her, but somehow it doesn’t. The sounds of her breathing and her heart beating are comforting. Just like it did last night, the fact that Faith is here, awake, sighing as she tries to get comfortable on her side of the bed, blows Buffy’s mind. She doesn’t know what exactly she was expecting the first night she slipped into Faith’s dreams, but it wasn’t this. Not really.

Faith shifts, pushing the covers off her feet. A minute later, she pulls them back on. Then she rolls on her side, facing Buffy.

Looking at her in the dark, Buffy asks,. “Are you thinking that this is a dream again?”

“No,” Faith says. Then in a quieter voice, she says, “I don’t know.”

“Anything I can do?”

Faith shakes her head, so Buffy closes her eyes and tries to go to sleep.

It works, and she’s in the middle of a particularly weird dream about the talent show at Sunnydale High when she jerks awake.

Faith’s facing her, a soft whimpering noise emitting from where her face presses into the pillow.

Buffy takes a beat to relax, realizing there are no threats in the room. Then she reaches out, putting a light hand on Faith’s arm.

Jolting awake, Faith sucks in a deep breath as she wakes up.

“You’re okay,” Buffy whispers.

Faith’s still breathing too hard. She presses her hand to her face, curling her knees up toward her stomach.

“Bad dream?” Buffy asks, although the answer is obvious.

Faith nods from behind her hand.

“Like before?” Buffy asks, thinking with dread about some mythic version of herself chasing Faith around with a knife.

Faith shakes her head.

Sliding closer to her, Buffy puts her arm tentatively around Faith’s waist. She wouldn’t have hesitated to touch her when they were still in the library, but somehow it doesn’t feel quite the same out here in the real world.

She’s tense for a moment, then Faith’s hand comes away from her face to grasp the front of Buffy’s shirt.

Starting to rub Faith’s back, Buffy asks, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Faith says quietly. She straightens her legs, shifting in closer to Buffy.

“I was thinking,” Buffy says in a quiet voice, “we’re asleep at the same time now. If you’re having a bad dream, you could come to the library.”

Faith looks at her in surprise.

“If you want,” Buffy adds uncertainly, because Faith hasn’t responded yet.

“Yeah,” Faith says, “thanks.”

Pleased, Buffy says, “Here,” moving her arm so she can slip it beneath Faith’s head. She wraps both arms around Faith, her head against Buffy’s shoulder. Gradually, Faith relaxes, her breathing evening out against Buffy’s collarbone. Buffy doesn’t fall back asleep right away. She strokes up and down Faith’s back for a long time, as though she can keep her grounded here and out of the nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, a little bit of of violence, and hey, Riley made himself useful for a change... :D Thoughts and comments always welcome!


	10. Chapter 10

_Pleased, Buffy says, “Here,” moving her arm so she can slip it beneath Faith’s head. She wraps both arms around Faith, her head against Buffy’s shoulder. Gradually, Faith relaxes, her breathing evening out against Buffy’s collarbone. Buffy doesn’t fall back asleep right away. She strokes up and down Faith’s back for a long time, as though she can keep her grounded here and out of the nightmares._

Chapter Ten

It’s still early morning when she wakes up, the other side of the bed empty, covers pulled up neatly. The house smells like coffee. Faith looks up at the ceiling of Buffy’s room, taking careful stock of her body. She feels more like herself, less like she’ll break at any moment. After she fell back asleep last night, she doesn’t remember any more of her dreams. She feels better rested than she has since waking up in the hospital.

She tells herself not to get used to this—falling asleep to the sound of Buffy’s heart beating, having Buffy’s world revolve around her—but it’s hard to stop. It’s hard to push Buffy away when it’s the middle of the night and she’s trying to remember how to breathe without feeling sick. It’s hard to watch Buffy go toe to toe with the council to keep them from taking her and not think that means something. It’s hard when Buffy’s lying so close not to let her hand cup Buffy’s neck and kiss her. That’s exactly what she’s wanted to do since almost the moment they met.

It’s just that she knows Buffy _didn’t_ want that—not before her little trip to an alternate dimension anyway. So if she wants it now… that’s just residual interest for some other version of Faith. It’s not real. And Faith’s had enough of not real.

With a sigh, she rolls out of bed. A laundry basket sits on the stool at Buffy’s vanity, full of clean clothes she recognizes as her own new stuff. Once she’s dressed, Faith goes downstairs in search of food and coffee. Giles is seated at the dining room table, a steaming mug of tea in front of him. Buffy’s sitting with him, eagerly finishing off a donut from a box on the table.

“Good morning, Faith,” Giles says.

“Morning,” Faith says, stopping behind Buffy’s chair.

Swallowing a bite of donut, Buffy looks over her shoulder. “I saved you a jelly,” she says.

“Does that mean you ate the rest of them?” Faith asks.

Giles stifles a smile as Buffy narrows her eyes. “I ate two,” she says defensively, “but just for that, I’m taking the other jelly.”

Faith reaches over her, flipping the box open and plucking a jelly donut free. She takes a large bite out of it. “Too late,” she says with her mouth full, before she disappears into the kitchen. She eats the donut while getting herself a cup of coffee, finishing it off before she goes back to the dining room.

“I’m glad I caught you both here,” Giles says, once she’s seated.

It’s not as if she had anywhere else to be, but Faith just nods, waiting for him to go on.

“Willow told me about the issue of the police looking for you,” he says, not only to her. Beside Faith, Buffy sinks a little lower in her seat. She could easily say it was Faith’s idea—it was—but Buffy doesn’t volunteer that information.

Giles continues, “I’ve spoken with a solicitor,” he begins, then sees their blank looks. “A lawyer,” he clarifies. “And she seems to feel that since you were both minors at the time of the offense, the barrister would be likely to go easy on you if you’ll take responsibility.”

“But they don’t know who Buffy is,” Faith points out. “Why tell them?”

“Because they know who you are,” Giles says evenly, “and they’re unlikely to let you off with community service if you refuse to divulge Buffy’s identity.”

So she has to take Buffy down with her. She’s pretty new to this redemption thing but she isn’t sure that she can right her wrongs by making Buffy’s life worse.

“Okay,” Buffy agrees. “So what do we do next?”

“If you’re both in agreement,” Giles says, “we can give Ms. Percy a call and let her know we’d like to retain her. Then she’ll reach out to the authorities.”

“Okay,” Buffy says. They both look at Faith expectantly.

“I can’t afford that,” Faith says, fidgeting uncomfortably in her chair.

Giles shakes his head. “No need to worry about that.”

She’s uncomfortable with the idea of Giles paying for a lawyer. She doesn’t like to owe anyone anything. In her experience, that usually comes back to bite her in the ass. There’s no way to stay in Sunnydale unless she deals with this, though. And if she can really get community service… that’s much less than she deserves. “It’s that easy?” Faith asks. “Pick up some trash on the highway, get away with murder?”

From the corner of her eye, she sees Buffy blanch at the casual way she just brought this up, but Faith’s looking at Giles now.

He has a knack for keeping calm in most situations, and this one is no different. “They have nothing substantial connecting you to the deputy mayor or to Lester Worth,” he says.

Faith’s stomach hurts at just the mention of the professor.

“Do you want to turn yourself in?” Giles asks.

“What?” Buffy asks incredulously. “No!”

Giles ignores her, waiting for Faith’s response.

“Faith?” Buffy prompts. “You’re not going to do that. Tell him.”

Shouldn’t she do that, though? How can you really be sorry for something if you’re not willing to pay the price for it? The professor must have had family. Are they going to live the rest of their lives with his murder unsolved?

“It’s her decision, Buffy,” Giles says, his voice not unkind.

“You’ll go to prison,” Buffy says, turning in her seat so she’s fully facing Faith.

“That’s usually what happens when you kill someone,” Faith says.

Buffy stares at her another moment, then she abruptly gets up and leaves the room, the sound of her feet heavy on the stairs.

“Is this something you’re really considering?” Giles asks, after they both hear the sound of the bedroom door closing.

Sighing, Faith says, “I’m not sure.”

Giles nods in understanding.

“I had a slayer dream,” she volunteers.

“Oh?”

Faith shrugs, still a little uncomfortable with Giles. “India Cohen was there. She said it was time to choose, keep going the way I was, or go back to being a slayer.”

“You chose your calling.”

Faith nods.

“And do you believe that going to prison would serve your calling?”

“Can’t slay in prison,” Faith points out.

“No,” Giles agrees, “you can’t.”

“But me staying free,” she says, looking around the dining room, “staying here… how’s that fair?”

Stirring his tea, Giles sits with her question for a few moments. Then he asks, “Has Buffy ever told you about my past?”

Faith shakes her head.

“When I was a bit older than you, my friends and I were into dark magic. We liked the thrill of it, got into all sorts of trouble. We thought we had it under control, until one day we didn’t. Someone died.” He clears his throat. “We killed him. It was an accident, but it wouldn’t have happened if we weren’t messing about with forces like that.”

Faith’s never heard this story before. It’s hard to imagine uptight, stalwart do-gooder Giles would have done something like that.

“I was encouraged to be a watcher,” Giles continues, “but I didn’t think someone with my past had any business getting into this work. Eventually I came to see it as a way that I could redeem myself.” He looks at Faith steadily. “You try to tip the scales for good. You do the best you can. It might not ever be enough, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying.”

Faith sips at her coffee so she doesn’t have to respond right away.

Giles says, “Prison is a punishment. If that’s what you feel you need, I’ll support your decision. I’m just suggesting that punishment isn’t the same as redemption.”

They sit together in silence for a few minutes, Faith feeling like a jumble of mixed emotions. Giles always has this vibe about him that he knows more than he’s letting on, and that makes Faith uneasy. Finally she says, “I should talk to her.”

“Of course,” Giles says, letting her off the hook. As Faith stands up, he says, “Oh, I almost forgot, Buffy mentioned the Mayor left you some kind of weapon?”

Faith looks at Giles. “Uh, yeah.”

“I thought I might take a look at it,” he says. “See if I can determine what exactly it does.”

His voice is light, his expression neutral, but Faith can’t help but feel like there’s a slight challenge to his suggestion. Like maybe he doesn’t fully trust her, and he wants to see if she’ll give him the weapon. She nods, deliberately trying to look nonchalant. “Yeah,” she says, “it’s yours. I’ll bring it back down with me.”

XXXXX

When Faith cracks the bedroom door open and looks inside, Buffy sits on the edge of the bed, her jaw feeling tight. She doesn’t invite Faith in, but she comes in anyway, closing the door softly behind her and leaning back against it. She makes no move to encroach on Buffy’s space.

A few seconds of silence tick by before Buffy finally acknowledges her with an angry look. “You’re a slayer,” she says. “You really think the best way to make things right is to spend the rest of your life behind bars? You could be helping people.”

Faith visibly tenses at her words. “Who am I helping?” She asks. “You’re going to have a record because of me. Your mom was just held at gunpoint. Me being here is only making everything worse.”

“My mom’s fine,” Buffy says, “and I was in that store, too. I’m just taking responsibility for my own actions.”

“Fine,” Faith says, “but—”

“You said you wanted to fight together again,” Buffy says in an accusing voice.

“I do want that.”

“How are we supposed to do that if you’re not even here?” Buffy asks.

“Jesus, B, I don’t know, okay?” Faith asks, getting frustrated. She steps away from the door, angrily pushing loose hair behind her ear. “I’m just trying to figure out what the right thing is.”

Buffy stands up, facing her. “The Mayor was the one who wanted Worth dead. And he’s already been punished.” Her eyes are wet as they search Faith’s face. “How does it help anyone for you to go to jail?”

Deflating slightly, Faith says, “Buffy.”

“I’m fine,” Buffy says abruptly, turning her back and walking a few feet away.

Faith gives her a moment before she follows, stopping behind Buffy’s shoulder. She reaches out tentatively, touching Buffy’s back. “I didn’t say I was going to do it,” she says.

She didn’t say she was, but she didn’t say she wasn’t going to do it either. Buffy’s exhausted. She’s been trying so hard to fix things. They’re talking. Learning how to be around each other again after everything that happened between them. Faith’s awake. She’s safe here, regaining her strength. The council has been dealt with. It feels like she can finally breathe for a few minutes. No immediate crises. No secrets between them waiting to be spilled. But now Faith’s talking about throwing all that away and turning herself in.

So maybe she needs to just put a line under the last several weeks. They talked it out. Faith’s not interested in becoming the lieutenant of any new evil entities or slitting Buffy’s throat. Maybe that’s the best they can ever do.

“Please don’t cry,” Faith says, moving a little closer.

“I’m not,” Buffy replies automatically, although a few angry tears have broken free and made their way down her face.

Faith’s hand is gentle on her shoulder, and she turns Buffy’s body a little so she can see her better. “You are,” she says.

Buffy shakes her head stubbornly.

“Talk to me,” Faith says in a soft voice.

“You’re not listening to me anyway,” Buffy says, her voice sounding froggy even to her own ears.

“I’m listening.”

What else is there to say? She doesn’t want Faith to go. “I need you here,” she says.

Faith doesn’t immediately scoff like Buffy’s expecting. Instead she asks, “Why?”

Instead of answering directly, Buffy asks, “Do you ever think about why we were chosen for this? Why whatever cosmic force out there looked at you and said, ‘yeah, she’s the one?’”

Faith nods. “Still have no idea.”

“I don’t either,” Buffy says. “I don’t know why out of all the girls in the world, it would choose me. Why it would be me who died and came back, and not Kendra.” She folds her arms like she’s cold. “But that’s what happened. Everything I do, the rest of my life, however long that is, I’m the slayer. I can’t opt out, and neither can you.” She looks at Faith. “We’re never going to win. We’re never going to retire and get desk jobs or spend holidays without demonic interference. But we have to fight, because there are things worth fighting for. Because something chose us.”

Faith looks like she’s hearing her, but she doesn’t rush to reassure Buffy that of course she’s going to stay.

“I need you,” Buffy says again. “I need you to do this with me. You’re the only person in the world who can.”

This is a lot of pressure to put on Faith. Buffy knows that. She’s still recovering physically, and mentally as well, if her nightmares are any indication. But Buffy has to say something now, before Faith does something she can’t take back, like turn herself in for murder. “Just…” she says, “don’t decide right now.”

Faith nods, like she can at least agree to that much. “I’ll tell Giles we’ll meet with the lawyer,” she offers, “okay?”

“Okay,” Buffy agrees.

XXXXX

They spend the rest of the day in a mostly awkward silence. Faith helps Buffy finish wrapping the mountain of presents that Joyce has amassed on the dining room table. Buffy’s not totally sure her wrapping skills would be up to Joyce’s specifications, so she mostly puts Faith in charge of boxing up items so Buffy can wrap them.

Joyce comes home with pizza, and the three of them eat together, clustered around the kitchen island. The presence of her mom eases some of the tension. Joyce is in a great mood, commending their (mostly Buffy’s) wrapping efforts and putting on Christmas music to keep them energized for her next project. That turns out to be an impromptu cleanup of the spare bedroom.

Disappearing into the linen closet, Joyce comes out with a comforter, fresh linens, and a wide smile. Faith’s getting her own room, she announces, just as soon as the two of them move all of the junk upstairs to the attic.

Buffy does most of the heavy lifting, Faith being relegated to boxing items and helping dust the furniture, by Joyce’s express instructions. By the time the three of them are finished, the room looks presentable. It’s the smallest bedroom, but it’s cozy now that Joyce’s sewing stuff has been stowed in her own room.

Retrieving the small amount of clothing she owns, Faith carefully puts everything away in the empty dresser. The dresser top is home to her brush, hair ties, and scant supply of makeup.

Looking around in satisfaction, Joyce says, “I think this’ll work for now.”

“It’s great,” Faith says, touching the comforter with a light hand. “Thanks, Mrs. S.”

“No thanks needed,” Joyce assures her, “and you can stay as long as you like. It’ll be nice to have someone home with me when Buffy goes back to school.”

Surprised, Faith gives her a small smile and a nod.

When Joyce heads back downstairs, Buffy says, “I have something for you.”

She disappears back into the hall, and Faith takes a deep breath, looking around the little space. The pillows on the bed look new and fluffy. The sheets are floral but grey and yellow, not overly feminine in that way that she would immediately hate. It doesn’t feel like hers yet, not exactly, but it’s four walls and a door she can close without worrying who’s on the other side of it. That’s a step up from most of the places she’s been. Sitting down on the bed, Faith pulls her legs up, sitting cross-legged as she waits for whatever Buffy wants to show her.

When Buffy comes back, she’s holding something dark in her arms, in front of her chest. She comes over to the bed, sitting gingerly across from Faith, and unrolls it, shaking it out before holding it out to Faith.

Looking at the dark denim jacket a moment, Faith tentatively accepts it. She looks at the cuffs, finding just the tiniest bit of fraying on the right one just where she remembers it, from countless times rubbing against the rough wood of a stake tucked in her sleeve.

“It’s yours,” Buffy says unnecessarily.

Faith swallows roughly. “I was wearing this that night… wasn’t I?”

“Yes,” Buffy says, her voice quiet. “After you…” she stops, clears her throat, “ _after_ , I made Angel drink from me. He stopped in time, but I was in the hospital. That’s when I saw you in the dream, where we were back in your apartment. When I woke up, I saw you there in the hospital. Your stuff was there, and I took that. I don’t know why.”

Faith runs her fingers over the rough denim. This jacket was one of the few things she brought from Boston that she didn’t toss once she had some change in her pocket. She’s had it for years, since before becoming the slayer even.

“I washed it,” Buffy says awkwardly. “In case you were thinking it had blood on it.”

She wasn’t, and she doesn’t really want to think about it now either. “Thanks,” Faith says.

Buffy nods. “Mom’s probably putting on a Christmas movie,” she says. “You coming down?”

“Yeah,” Faith agrees, “in a minute.”

Once Buffy’s gone, Faith stands up again, sliding her jacket on. It’s a little too loose now but it feels familiar in a way nothing else does. It’s one small thing, but it’s hers. She shrugs it off carefully, then walks to the hook on the back of the bedroom door. Hanging the jacket, she looks around the room again. Funny how that one thing makes this feel so much more like her own space. Maybe Buffy’s right. Maybe she should stay here. Joyce wants her to, and even the super friends seem open to her being back in the group. Then there’s Buffy. Buffy, who took her jacket and kept it all this time. A little piece of Faith that she took home and washed the blood out of, then tucked away for safe keeping. And that was well before Willow’s out of control spell casting sent her to another dimension. Maybe what Buffy’s been saying this whole time is true. Maybe she really does care.

With a last pat to the jacket, Faith opens her door and heads downstairs to see what movie they’re playing tonight.

XXXXX

“I can’t believe I’ve been the slayer for this long,” Buffy says, her voice disbelieving, “and you never told me that unicorns are real.”

“Hmm? Oh,” Giles looks up from where he’s standing in his living room, calmly working a brush over the huge beast beside him. She’s tall, so tall that her horn nearly brushes the ceiling. Her mane is white and it glitters as she tosses her head impatiently. “Well, I did mean for it to be a surprise for your birthday.”

“Really?” Buffy asks, her voice definitely ascending into a squeal.

“Yes!” Giles says, waving her over and holding out the brush.

Accepting the brush from him, Buffy tentatively raises it to the unicorn’s side, beginning to gently brush her coat. A soft, pleased neigh is her reward.

“She likes you already,” Giles says, smiling.

“What’s her name?” Buffy asks. Her fingers brush the unicorn’s mane, and her whole body feels like its enveloped in sunshine.

“That’s for you to decide, isn’t it?” Giles asks.

“Is it?” Buffy looks up.

“If you love her,” Giles says, “then you name her.” He holds up his hand as Buffy starts to open her mouth. “You must be sure,” he warns. “Once you name her, she’ll be yours always.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Buffy asks, still mesmerized by the glittering beast before her eyes. She touches the unicorn reverently on the nose, feeling its damp breath against her palm.

“It may be,” Giles concedes, “but it may not be. Unicorns are beautiful, yes, but wild. Not many wild things should be kept.”

From the other side of the front door to Giles’s apartment, Buffy begins to hear the sound of water lapping against the door. “What is that?” She asks.

“I don’t know,” Giles says, honestly, “it’s not coming from in here.”

Buffy narrows her eyes, looking at the door again. “It’s not coming from here at all.”

“So, have you decided?” Giles asks, looking at her expectantly.

Buffy pulls her gaze back to the unicorn, staring up into her silver eyes. They’re mesmerizing, with beautiful dark lashes. “It’s Faith,” Buffy says suddenly, turning to look at the door again.

“Then you’ve claimed her,” Giles says, turning to smile at the unicorn.

“That noise,” Buffy says, her forehead wrinkling, setting down the brush on his coffee table. Her hand falls away from the unicorn’s side. As she walks to the front door, the sound of water gets louder. She tries the knob, but it won’t turn. She knocks on the door. “Faith?”

When that gets her nowhere, she opens the little door viewer, peering out through the latticed metal. It’s night outside, not the front of Giles’s apartment, but an industrial area. The sound of water is louder. “Faith,” she tries again.

She can hear labored breathing nearby.

“Let me in,” Buffy calls through the door, gripping the handle again. This time it turns, and Buffy steps through, pulling the door closed behind her. She realizes the water she hears is coming from the docks.

She scans the area for Faith, finally seeing her half a block away, half cloaked in shadow as she struggles with something on the ground. Buffy sets off in her direction, a bad feeling in her stomach.

As she gets closer to Faith, the feeling intensifies. “Faith?” She asks, stopping a few feet away.

Faith startles, dropping whatever she’s wrangling as she spins around to look at Buffy. Buffy recognizes the clothes she’s wearing; they’re burned into her memory. Her eyes drop to the object on the ground behind Faith, a large sleeping bag, lumpy, like someone’s inside it.

“Oh,” Buffy says, her mouth going dry.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Faith says, blood streaked across her neck and the white of her shirt.

Buffy can’t take her eyes off the sleeping bag.

Stepping closer, Faith blocks her view. She’s pale, her hair pulled back in a sloppy knot. “Just go,” she says.

“No,” Buffy says, although part of her wants to. Faith’s eyes are too wide, her lower lip trembling. “No,” she says again. “We both did this.”

“Not this part,” Faith says.

“If you’re going to do it,” Buffy says, “then I’ll go with you.”

Gritting her teeth, Faith nods. She turns her back to Buffy and squats beside the sleeping bag. Buffy lowers herself to her knees hesitantly.

“We have to put these in,” Faith says, gesturing toward the cinderblocks she’s gathered from somewhere.

Buffy nods, reaching a shaking hand toward the top of the sleeping bag.

“Just don’t look at him,” Faith advises, but Buffy can’t help it.

Allan Finch’s glassy eyes stare at the sky as she pulls the top of the sleeping bag back and begins stuffing the blocks in. Blood has dried and crusted all over his shirt, a thin trail of it leading from his mouth down his chin.

Tears fill Buffy’s eyes, but she keeps working, helping Faith weight down the sleeping bag. When they’ve shoved in as many cinderblocks as will fit, they zip the bag on both sides. Faith plucks a zip tie from her pocket and ties the two zippers together, effectively sealing the bag.

They stand up in silence, each of them taking an end of the bag and hefting it into the air between them. “This way,” Faith says. They carry him for what feels like an eternity, across two blocks and down Pier 7. “It’s the deepest,” Faith tells her.

At the end of the pier, Faith counts off, and they fling the sleeping bag and its contents with all their might, watching as it rapidly sinks underwater.

Buffy blinks, hot tears spilling down her cheeks.

Beside her, Faith stares at the water, her hands balled into fists. “I thought I could make it go away,” she says in a small voice, “but it didn’t.”

Wiping the tears from her face, Buffy tells herself to pull it together. She moves into the space next to Faith. “What did you do next?” She asks. When Faith doesn’t answer, Buffy looks away from the water and at Faith.

She looks miles away, as if she hasn’t even heard Buffy speaking. “Faith?” Buffy prods, reaching out and gently touching her arm.

Faith snaps back to attention, glancing at her. “I went home,” she says.

“Then let’s do that,” Buffy suggests.

When Faith nods, they turn together to head back down the dock, but find themselves at the door to Faith’s motel room.

“Handy,” Buffy tries to joke. “Dream teleportation.”

Faith doesn’t laugh, just reaches in her pocket for her keys. As she unlocks the door to let them in, Buffy looks down at herself in the grainy lighting of the motel parking lot. Blood stains the sleeve of her right arm and has transferred to the side of her coat. She starts unbuttoning it, suddenly desperate to take it off.

Faith leads the way inside, immediately toeing her boots off beside the door. Buffy mimics her as she pulls her coat off. She catches sight of her hands as she folds the coat up. Brown smudges mar her palm and the back of her hand, and she swallows down a sudden lump in her throat. This isn’t even her dream, but Buffy feels just as shaken as she did the night this really happened.

Faith stands there in her socks, looking dazed. “Do you think… does anyone miss him?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy says honestly, placing her coat carefully on the floor beside her shoes. “I never heard anything about his family, if he had one.”

“You thought maybe he was coming to us for help,” Faith says. The stains on her clothing become bigger and darker before Buffy’s eyes, until she’s covered in so much blood she looks like she bathed in it.

“There’s no way to know,” Buffy says gently. “Faith, your clothes…”

Faith looks down, her eyes widening.

“It’s okay,” Buffy says, reaching for her. She fights the urge to flinch at the warm viscous liquid sopping through Faith’s clothes. Taking Faith’s arm, she walks her to the small bathroom.

Inside, Buffy flicks on the light, avoiding looking in the mirror. She reaches into the tub and turns on the water, waiting until it feels like an acceptable temperature before she switches the dial to Shower. “Let’s get cleaned up,” she says.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be clean again,” Faith says hollowly. Blood mats her hair and drips off her pants onto the bathroom floor.

Before now, Buffy would have said the night Diana Dormer died was the worst she’s ever seen Faith, but this is worse. Her eyes are empty, her shoulders bowed and defeated. Buffy knows how she feels, because she felt the same. She can feel it again now, reliving what happened. It’s a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach and the back of her throat. It’s like she’s cold all over, and she can hardly stand to close her eyes because every time she does, she sees Allan Finch, his eyes widening in horror and pain, clutching at her arms as he begins to fall over.

Faith never let her see her true feelings though, not until now. If she had… maybe everything could have been different. There’s no going back now, but Faith’s still standing here, drowning under the weight of the blood on her skin. So Buffy does what she might have done if Faith had given her the chance. She takes care of her.

Stepping to Faith, she pushes her vest off, letting it fall to the floor. She grasps the hem of Faith’s soaked shirt, nudging at her to raise her arms over her head. Faith does so mutely. The shirt drops to the floor with a wet splat. Buffy reaches for her waistband, getting so far as unbuttoning her pants before Faith starts to retch. She pushes Buffy aside, rushing to the toilet and falling to her knees.

Buffy’s stomach gurgles in sympathy, and she turns away, not wanting to join Faith. When she hears Faith washing her mouth out at the sink, she turns back around.

Faith stands impassively while Buffy unzips her pants and pushes them down over her hips. When they drop to the floor, Buffy has to prompt Faith to step out, then she guides her over to the tub. She grabs the bottom of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head. She grits her teeth at the slide of cooling blood against her skin, refusing to look down at herself. She undoes her pants and pushes them down, kicking them off her feet. Then she peels her socks off.

She crouches in front of Faith, lifting her foot from the floor. Faith puts her hand on Buffy’s shoulder as Buffy removes first one sock, then the other. Standing back up, Buffy pulls back the shower curtain and gestures for Faith to get in first. Faith steps under the spray, the floor of the tub immediately running red at the sheer amount of blood washing off her skin. Buffy steps in behind her, pulling the curtain closed.

Standing close to her, Buffy cradles her head and dips it back under the shower. Faith closes her eyes, letting Buffy untangle her hair under the water. It takes three shampoos before she stops rinsing new blood from Faith’s hair. The water is still running hot, which Buffy suspects wouldn’t really be the case in real life, but she’s grateful for it, as she grabs a washcloth and soaps it up. She cleans Faith’s skin, starting with her face and the skin around her ears, before scrubbing a little harder as she moves to her neck and shoulders. She prods Faith to turn so she can scrub her back. Buffy washes around the bra Faith’s still wearing, until Faith reaches back and unclasps it, letting it fall to the floor of the shower. She hooks her thumbs in her underwear, pushing those to join her bra on the floor.

Buffy doesn’t miss a beat. She washes Faith’s back, moving gently over her shoulder blades, down her spine, the small of her back, and her butt, before pushing her hip so she turns back around. Buffy rinses the washcloth, adds more soap, then gently washes her torso. She’d have thought it would be awkward or embarrassing, seeing Faith naked like this, but it’s neither. The weight of the dead man rests heavy on both of them, but heaviest on Faith, just as it did in the real world. This moment, more than any other, is the one that sent Faith spinning away from her. Now, Buffy can take some of that weight. She can wash it off Faith’s hair and her skin.

She does Faith’s arms and hands, taking care with her fingers to get all traces of blood from under her nails. Rinsing the cloth again, she does each of Faith’s legs and her feet before standing back up.

Faith takes the washcloth from Buffy, gesturing at her for them to trade places.

Buffy does as she wants, moving under the hot water and letting it soak into her hair. She closes her eyes, letting her body warm back up. A moment later, she feels Faith’s hands in her hair and opens her eyes in surprise.

“Let me,” Faith says, her voice hoarse.

Faith mimics Buffy’s actions of a few minutes ago, washing her hair thoroughly before reaching out of the tub for a new washcloth. She gathers soap on the cloth, then starts to wash Buffy’s skin. Buffy looks down at the water around their toes, pink again now that the dried blood is rinsing off.

Doing as Buffy initially did, Faith carefully peels the straps of her bra aside to run the washcloth underneath them before pulling them back into place. Buffy reaches for the clasp on her bra and undoes it, then pushes her underwear down, so she’s standing naked in front of Faith.

Faith nods at her, resuming her gentle scrubbing of Buffy’s skin. When she’s done, she drapes the washcloth over the faucet. Buffy turns the shower off and pulls a towel free from the rack outside. She spreads it over their soiled clothing on the bathroom floor, then takes two more for herself and Faith. They dry off quickly, stepping out of the shower onto the towel. Once they’re back in the room proper, Buffy closes the bathroom door behind them, hoping they won’t have to go back in for any reason. Faith stands beside her, starting to shiver in her thin towel and wet hair.

Walking to Faith’s bed, Buffy pulls back the covers for her to get under. Faith drops her towel beside the bed and climbs in. Buffy does likewise, tucking the blanket around her back. She reaches for Faith, and Faith comes, sliding into her arms, cool skin and wet hair. Her head tucks under Buffy’s chin, and for a while, they don’t speak. Buffy listens to Faith breathing in the dark, thinking about the night they didn’t come back here together. She’d stood in the shower until the water ran cold, unable to believe her hands were clean even when they demonstrably were. She never asked what Faith did when she got back.

"God, it hurts,” Faith says, her voice small. “I hate that it hurts like this."

Buffy can share in the sentiment for Allan Finch, but she knows Faith doesn’t mean just that. “I think it’s supposed to,” she says softly. “Maybe you have to feel it before you can get past it.”

“Well,” Faith says, sounding a little more like herself, “atonement sounds like a real blast.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agrees, her lips against Faith’s hair, “but you don’t have to do it alone.”

Faith thinks about that for several moments, then she says, “I’m sorry,” her breath warm against Buffy’s chest, “for telling Giles it was you.”

Buffy hasn’t thought about that in a long time. There wasn’t time to dwell on it then, not with Wesley so quickly screwing everything up. She didn’t think about it later either. The only way she could deal with Faith turning on them so completely was not to think about her, or any of the missed chances between them. “I understood,” she says honestly.

“Still,” Faith says, sounding earnest.

“It was both of us,” Buffy says. “I didn’t realize. I threw him to you.”

“But it was my stake,” Faith says. She leans back, raising miserable eyes to meet Buffy’s. “Please, B. I’m sorry.”

Buffy gets it then. She’s trying to share the responsibility for Allan Finch’s death, but that isn’t what Faith needs to hear right now. “I forgive you,” she says, tightening her arms around Faith.

Relief is obvious in Faith’s face, and she nods and puts her head back down against Buffy’s shoulder. Buffy rests her cheek against Faith’s damp hair. This should feel weird, the two of them naked and pressed together like this, but just like in the shower, it doesn’t. There’s something about the dreamspace that makes it easier. She’s been in Faith’s mind, seen some of the worst moments of her life through her eyes. What’s being naked compared to that?

Faith’s voice is muffled when she speaks again. “Think I’m waking up.”

Buffy opens her eyes, glancing down. Faith’s indistinct in the dark, the feeling of her skin on Buffy’s half there, half gone. Then Faith’s gone, and so is the motel room.

XXXXX

At first she isn’t sure where she is, and she grips the blanket in her fingers, scrambling for purchase on something solid. The softness of the comforter brings her back to reality. She’s in the spare room at Buffy’s house, tucked into the bed Joyce carefully made up for her. Outside, it’s still full dark, and Faith clocks the time around 4AM. Christmas Eve. She sits up, holding the blanket to her chest as she looks around the shadows in the room.

Moonlight reflects off the little mirror above the dresser, casting enough grainy light for her to see the sparse possessions she carefully arranged there earlier. Her boots sit on the floor, leant against the dresser. There’s not much, but it’s hers. Even this room is hers now, for as long as she wants it. It feels good… safe. But something’s still missing.

Faith gets up, her feet cold on the wood floorboards, and walks to the door. She steps into the hallway, her shoulder immediately smacking into a soft body. Buffy stumbles back, with a muffled _oof_ , and Faith grabs for her arm, managing to steady her.

“Sorry,” Buffy says in a whisper, not wanting to wake her mother, “I was just… I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“Oh,” Faith says. “I—”

“Sorry,” Buffy says again. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Faith says.

Buffy starts backing up. “I’ll go back to my—”

“Buffy,” Faith says, her voice a little louder.

Buffy stops, looking at her questioningly.

“Come in?” Faith steps back through the doorway, holding the door open for her.

A beat later, Buffy slips through the door, arms crossed over her stomach. Faith closes the door behind her, then steps around her, walking back to bed. Pulling back the covers, she gestures for Buffy to get in.

Buffy gets in.

Waiting until she slides into the middle, Faith gets in behind her, facing her. “I’m okay,” she says, once they’re both settled in with covers tucked around their shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Buffy says, not sounding entirely sure. “I guess it just felt weird to go from that dream to being alone in my room.”

Faith knows the feeling. She slides closer, close enough to rest her forehead against Buffy’s. Raising one hand, she lays it on Buffy’s hip. “Stay here,” she says softly.

“Sure,” Buffy says, sounding happy. She touches Faith’s cheek, tilting her chin up slightly so their noses just brush together.

Faith swallows hard, her hand tightening on Buffy’s hip for a moment. Then she angles her face away, moving their lips out of brushing range. She kisses Buffy’s forehead. “Goodnight, B.”

If she’s disappointed, Buffy manages to hide it. She closes her eyes, wrapping her arm around Faith. “Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite chapter in the story (yes, I love hurt/comfort, why do you ask?). I hope you enjoyed it too! Chapter 11 takes place on Christmas Eve, so unfortunately the Buffy world won't totally line up with the real world. Happy Holidays in any case! Comments always appreciated. :)


	11. Chapter 11

_Faith knows the feeling. She slides closer, close enough to rest her forehead against Buffy’s. Raising one hand, she lays it on Buffy’s hip. “Stay here,” she says softly._

_“Sure,” Buffy says, sounding happy. She touches Faith’s cheek, tilting her chin up slightly so their noses just brush together._

_Faith swallows hard, her hand tightening on Buffy’s hip for a moment. Then she angles her face away, moving their lips out of brushing range. She kisses Buffy’s forehead. “Goodnight, B.”_

_If she’s disappointed, Buffy manages to hide it. She closes her eyes, wrapping her arm around Faith. “Goodnight.”_

Chapter Eleven

Christmas Eve dawns in Sunnydale with unusually cold weather for Southern California, prompting Buffy to appear at breakfast in fleece lined slippers and a giant fluffy robe. Faith stands next to the stove in a t-shirt and pajamas pants, her socked feet resting on the cold tile floor. She raises one eyebrow. “What news from the arctic circle?”

“Ha, ha,” Buffy says, pulling her robe tighter around herself. “Mom, tell her we’re Cali girls. We’re not used to this.”

Joyce is in fact wearing a robe herself, but she’s been sipping at her coffee for several minutes and has managed to stave off the chill. “Turn the heat up if you’re cold,” she says.

Buffy slinks back out of the kitchen in pursuit of the thermostat.

Taking a mug from the cupboard, Faith fills it with fresh coffee, holding the mug out to Buffy when she returns from the other room. Buffy shuffles her way across the kitchen and accepts the coffee. “Thanks,” she says, meeting Faith’s eyes and giving her a little smile.

“Sure,” Faith says, her face feeling a little warm. Buffy had still been in bed with her when she woke up this morning, her arm over Faith’s stomach, head on Faith’s shoulder. Looking perfectly at home against Faith’s side. Faith slipped out, coming down here to start the coffee before Joyce got up.

Buffy sets the mug down, reaching for the sugar, and Faith finally drags her attention back to the task at hand. Cracking eggs into a bowl, shel begins to whisk them together, preparing scrambled eggs for the three of them.

“You sure you don’t mind doing that, Faith?” Joyce asks. “I’m happy to.”

“I got it,” Faith assures her. She mixes ingredients into the bowl, flicking on the burner beneath the waiting pan.

“You cook?” Buffy asks, leaning past Faith to peer into the bowl. Her arm brushes Faith’s.

“I cook,” Faith confirms, resisting the urge to lean in closer to her.

“I’ve never seen you cook.”

“You’ve only seen me in a motel where a microwave passed as the ‘kitchenette,’” Faith points out.

“Fair enough,” Buffy agrees, backing up to climb onto the stool behind her.

“Do you girls have plans for today?” Joyce asks.

“I think I’m supposed to be in military confinement,” Faith says dryly, “so I should probably lay low.”

“Willow called,” Buffy says. “She’s in full panic mode because she realized Tara bought her something for Christmas and now she needs the perfect present for tonight.”

“Oh dear,” Joyce says mildly.

“I was gonna go meet her at the mall and help her shop,” Buffy says, “if you don’t mind me going out for a while.”

Waving her off, Joyce says, “I can start cooking without you.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Buffy promises. “She wants to get going soon.”

“Have fun,” Joyce says.

“I can help you with the cooking stuff,” Faith offers. “If you want.”

Surprised, Joyce gives her a nod. “That would be great, honey, thank you.”

XXXXX

“This is pretty,” Buffy suggests, picking up a small leather case. It’s hand switched, green and dark brown, with a circular design. Inside the circle appears to be a tree.

Willow looks over in interest, putting down the necklace she’s been studying. She reaches for the case, gingerly taking it from Buffy’s hands. “It’s a tarot case,” she says, studying it.

“I thought the design was nice,” Buffy offers.

Nodding, Willow says, “It’s a symbol for natural magic.”

“Hence the tree,” Buffy says, getting it. “Does Tara like tarot?”

“She has her mother’s deck,” Willow says. She looks up. “This is perfect.”

“One present down!” Buffy says cheerfully. “Who’s left on our list?” She looks at Xander. “What did you get Anya?”

“Money,” Xander says, seeming quite proud.

“Money?” Buffy asks incredulously, as Willow goes up to the cash register to make her purchase.

“Well, I got her a gift card,” Xander says. “So it’s money, but like… I put thought into it.” Off her skeptical look, he asks, “What?”

“You can’t just give her a gift card,” Buffy says. “That’s so impersonal.”

“But she loves money!”

Internally questioning both Xander’s taste in girlfriends and his taste in gifts, Buffy steers him out of the shop and into the bustling hallway of the mall. She scans the stores nearby, looking for something promising.

“I think she’ll like the gift card,” Xander defends himself.

“My dad sends me a gift card every Christmas and birthday because he has no idea what I like,” Buffy says, giving him a disbelieving look. “Get her something pretty.”

“Jewelry?” Xander asks.

“Can’t go wrong with jewelry,” Buffy says. “Wanna get a snack and then we’ll look? I’m starving.”

Xander glances around at the throngs of people passing them by. It seems like everyone in Sunnydale is at the mall, trying to finish their shopping as the clock winds down on Christmas Eve. “If we can make it there, sure.”

When Willow comes out of the shop, a bag swinging on her arm, the three of them begin the arduous process of making their way to the food court. At one point, they almost lose Willow to a sweeping crowd moving in the opposite direction, and Buffy has to loop their arms together like a human chain.

Finally, they make it to the food court and grab food, managing to snag a table in the packed space. “So,” Xander says, as he unwraps his burrito, “how’s it going at your place?”

“Okay,” Buffy says. It’s kind of a mixed bag. One minute she feels like Faith’s really opening up to her, the next, she’s not sure if she’s even going to stay in Sunnydale. “It’s a work in progress, I guess.” She takes a bite of her burrito, careful to keep it partially in its foil wrap.

“How’s your mom doing with it?” Willow asks.

“She’s good,” Buffy says, in between bites. “She made us clean out the spare room and gave it to Faith.”

Xander raises his eyebrows in surprise. “So, she wants Faith to stay long term?”

Shrugging, Buffy says, “I guess so. I’m not home much during school anyway. Maybe she likes the company.”

“I can see how having a slayer around the house would be useful,” Willow says. “Carrying in the groceries, moving furniture, that kind of stuff.”

“Thanks, Will,” Buffy says with amusement. “Glad to know why you really keep me around.”

“You’re also the designated spider killer,” Willow says with approval.

Buffy shakes her head, smiling. “What are you guys up to after the party tonight?”

“I’m gonna stay at Anya’s,” Xander says. “We got a little tree and put it up. She doesn’t really get Christmas, but I told her presents would be involved, so I think that sold her.”

“I’ll probably just be at home,” Willow says, “but I think Tara’s gonna come over tomorrow. We’re gonna do the annual Rosenberg Chinese takeout and watch TV night, maybe practice some spells.”

Buffy gives Willow a knowing smile that goes totally over Xander’s head.

Willow’s cheeks turn a little pink.

“I like Tara,” Xander volunteers, not noticing. “She really came through with the magic on the council situation.”

“Yeah,” Willow agrees quickly, “she’s great.” She takes a large bite of burrito, looking a tiny bit panicked.

Buffy takes pity on her. “I really appreciate how you guys backed me up with the council. I know you don’t have a lot of reason to go out on a limb for Faith.”

“You think she’s worth it,” Willow says, with a shrug. “That’s good enough for me.”

Buffy smiles her thanks, then looks at Xander. “I saw a necklace Anya might like when my Mom and I were shopping earlier this week.”

He starts to gather their trash on his tray. “Lead on, Buffster.”

XXXXX

The kitchen is warm, the counter littered with dishes and ingredients. Joyce sways and dances to Christmas music as the two of them chop, mix, and bake. Faith wasn’t sure what to expect when she heard they were having everyone over for a Christmas Eve party. Last year was pretty low key. This year is apparently comprised of a full sit down meal, dozens of cookies, and coordinated place settings. Faith’s in charge of setting the table. She’s set a table before, but somehow there are more pieces here than she’s expecting.

Joyce gestures for her to take one side of the tablecloth and the two of them carefully cover the dining room table in red and white. Then there are Christmas placemats, charger plates, whatever the hell those are for, dinner plates, salad plates, bread plates, napkins to be wound through rings of tiny jingling bells, two forks, two spoons, only one knife thankfully, water goblets, wine glasses, candles, heaps of fresh evergreens that Joyce instructs her to arrange ‘however you think looks best.’ Faith thinks this is probably more trust than she deserves, but she does her best, laying out each place according to the way Joyce set up the first one. She’s not sure where all the food they made is supposed to go now, but the table looks nice.

Popping her head back out of the kitchen, Joyce surveys her work. “Perfect,” she declares.

Faith smiles, pleased.

“Will you help me pack up the cookies?” Joyce asks, disappearing back into the kitchen. She unearths six large Christmas tins and puts them on the counter next to a roll of wax paper.

As they begin packing an assortment of cookies into each tin, Joyce gives her a small smile. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” Faith answers truthfully. “Not as tired.”

“That’s good,” Joyce says. She looks at her tin, frowns, and adds two more chocolate chip cookies to it. “How are you and Buffy getting along?” She asks.

Her fingers freeze momentarily, but Faith gets control and goes back to packing cookies. “Uh,” she says, “we’re good.”

“I’m not trying to pry,” Joyce assures her quickly. “I just mean… well, I know you two had a falling out and things were complicated last year.”

Faith stops working, looking at Buffy’s mother seriously. “I’m not going to turn on her, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh,” Joyce says, embarrassed, “that’s not what I meant.” She gently sets the cookie in her hand down to give Faith her full attention. “I can tell you’ve had to take care of yourself for a long time, Faith. When you got here last year, I was just so happy to have someone looking out for Buffy, I didn’t see how unhappy you were. I didn’t stop to think that maybe you needed us to look out for you, too.”

Faith shrugs uncomfortably. “It wasn’t your job to look out for me. You’re not my mom.”

“No,” Joyce agrees, “but I could be your friend. I just want to make sure you know it’s not only Buffy who cares about you.”

“Thank you,” Faith says, half touched, half embarrassed.

Smiling softly, Joyce nods and resumes packing the tin in front of her.

XXXXX

Buffy opens the front door, careful to keep the shopping bags in her hand partially obscured behind her. She can hear music in the kitchen, so she slips off her boots and steals into the living room, retrieving wrapping supplies quickly. She heads upstairs on socked feet, silent as a ghost, intent on hiding the newly acquired gifts in her room until she can wrap them later. Once they’re safely tucked under her bed, Buffy strips down and heads for the shower. The gang should be arriving in a few hours, and she’s sure there’s still work to do downstairs. Plus there’s wrapping to do.

She showers quickly, mentally perusing her closet and trying to decide on an outfit for the night’s festivities. She’s still thinking about what she’ll wear when she steps out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her. Movement catches her eye, and Buffy looks over to see a startled Faith at the top of the stairs.

She doesn’t miss the way Faith’s eyes skip from Buffy’s shoulders down to her bare legs before she catches herself. Faith averts her eyes. “Sorry,” she says, “I was just gonna get my stuff together so I could jump in the shower next.”

“It’s okay,” Buffy says. The corner of her mouth curves up. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, right?”

Faith looks up sharply, then catches her smile. “Not exactly the same thing,” she says.

She looks almost shy, and Buffy grins at the blush coming to her cheeks.

“Shut up,” Faith says, sounding aggrieved, but smiling.

“How was hanging with my mom?” Buffy asks, taking pity on her.

Faith leaps at the change in topics. “Good,” she says. “We got most of the cooking done.”

“Thank God you were here,” Buffy says. “Shopping took way longer than I expected. My mom would have been stuck doing everything by herself.”

“I don’t mind helping,” Faith says. “Good shopping trip?”

Nodding, Buffy says, “Yeah, Willow found something perfect for Tara, and we managed to convince Xander that he can’t just give Anya a gift card if he wants her to remain his girlfriend.”

Faith smirks. They look at each other for another moment, before Faith glances at her bedroom door. “I should…” she says.

“Yeah,” Buffy agrees. “Meet you downstairs?” When Faith nods, they go to their separate rooms. Once the door is closed behind her, Buffy sits down on her bed, feeling conflicted. The most important thing is showing Faith she can trust her. Buffy knows that, but she’d be lying if she said that she didn’t catch herself thinking about more than that. Since she stopped lying to herself about the attraction she feels for Faith, it’s become impossible to stuff the lid back on those feelings. The fact that they keep ending up in bed together isn’t helping things.

Buffy likes the way Faith fits against her in the middle of the night. She likes the softness of Faith’s skin under her cheek when she wakes up using Faith as her pillow. She likes the way Faith looks in the morning, the way her hair rumples, the way her boobs sit under her sleep shirts, unconstrained and soft. 

Buffy’s trying to tell herself not to think about this, not to feel like this—that isn’t what Faith needs or wants right now. It would just be a lot easier to follow her own advice if she didn’t know that Faith _did_ want her, at least until she found out about Buffy’s time in the other world.

Still, Faith’s only been here a few days. Maybe she needs more time to come to terms with everything. Maybe once she’s settled and starting to figure out her new normal, things will be different. Or maybe, Buffy thinks sourly, she’s going to pack off to prison, and Buffy will never see her again. The thought makes her stomach clench anxiously, and Buffy has to force herself to take a deep breath. It’s Christmas Eve. Soon the house will be filled with friends, all of them happy and relaxed with full bellies. Just for tonight, she’ll put the worry out of her mind and try to focus on the present.

XXXXX

The Christmas lights twinkle merrily through the darkened living room, casting colorful patterns over the couch and the two of them. Everyone’s gone home now, bellies full from Joyce’s Christmas Eve feast. It’s silent upstairs, with Joyce presumably all tucked into bed. Buffy’s watching the tree, her face relaxed, feet curled underneath her. She’s clad in reindeer pajamas with a mug of hot cocoa in her hand. Faith’s made a slight concession to the festivities by putting on penguin socks.

This time last year, Faith was doing much the same thing, only she was sitting here with Joyce, both of them worried about Buffy. It’s crazy to think it’s already Christmas again, but apparently time flies when you spend half of it in a coma. At least she’s feeling pretty close to normal now. Her body feels good, strong. The clothes Joyce picked aren’t exactly her, but they are _hers_ , and it feels good to have stuff again, however little it is. Between that and the fact that the super friends have finally gone home, leaving the house in peace and quiet, Faith’s mood is something approaching jolly.

“I guess my Christmas wish came true,” Buffy says, sounding quite content herself.

Faith looks over at her, quirking one eyebrow. “Well, now you jinxed it, and this last…” She glances at the clock on the wall. “Two minutes of Christmas Eve, we’re going to be attacked by mischief demons or something.”

Buffy makes a guilty face, then looks up toward the ceiling. “I take it back,” she says out into the universe. “My wishes have not come true. I don’t need to be taught a lesson.”

“I don’t think you can put the genie back in the bottle like that.”

Buffy frowns. “Okay, then you make a Christmas wish that won’t come true, so we can even out my wish.”

Faith thinks. “Snow,” she says. “Real snow. Not like that dusting we had last year.”

Buffy looks out the window. “No snow.”

“Then we’re saved.”

“Great work.”

“Glad to be of service.”

Buffy laughs. “Is it always a white Christmas in Boston?”

“Most of the time,” Faith says. “Sometimes it’s even a white Halloween.”

“No danger of that here,” Buffy snorts. She sits up suddenly, putting her cocoa down. “I forgot to tell you; Riley called earlier. He said the council guys cleared out of the warehouse this morning. Willow did a little detective work, and it looks like they took a flight home.”

The council team going home is good news, but the mention of Riley puts a damper on the zen she’s been trying to cultivate with the Christmas lights. “Great,” Faith says flatly. “I’m sure he couldn’t wait to save the day again with that intel.”

Buffy frowns. “What’s that mean?”

“Just that the guy gets off on this knight in shining armor routine.”

Bristling, Buffy says, “He does not. He’s just a nice person.”

“He works for some government organization collecting demons,” Faith points out.

“Well, yeah,” Buffy agrees, sounding confused by Faith’s sudden vitriol, “but he also helped us.”

“You’re telling me that guy doesn’t want to get with you?” Faith sneers.

Buffy sputters. “That’s… beside the point.”

“Whatever.”

“Well, I don’t want to be with him,” Buffy says.

Her voice is a little softer, and Faith doesn’t like the way Buffy’s looking at her now. “It’s none of my business anyway,” Faith says, crossing her arms.

“Fine,” Buffy says, sounding pissed. She gets up. “I’m going to bed.”

“Come on,” Faith says, now wishing she kept her mouth shut. “Don’t be like that.” She gets up too, reaching for Buffy’s hand.

Letting her take it, Buffy comes to a stop. Her mouth is downturned, her jaw tight. Pretty ticked then. Faith knows the signs well.

Faith’s thumb rubs the back of Buffy’s hand lightly, and Buffy seems to soften a little. Faith looks at her, the big eyes, the ridiculous pajamas, and her mouth feels a little dry. All day long she’s caught herself thinking about the dream they had last night. While tucked in a corner of the living room, next to Tara, the only other person here who feels as out of place as she does, she’d catch sight of Buffy cutting through the foyer, laughing with Giles, and suddenly not be able to think about anything other than the feeling of Buffy’s strong fingers in her hair, washing the blood out. When she made eye contact with Anya across the mashed potatoes and got an icy glower in return, she thought about the warmth of Buffy’s body pressed against hers in that dingy motel room. Buffy walked through one of her worst memories and stayed with her, took care of her, like Faith’s a person who deserves that.

She’s always excelled at keeping a wall between herself and anyone who tries to get close to her. Any attempts to get through it are met with reinforcements. Jokes. Anger. Violence. The wall she’s put up against Buffy should be solid steel by this point, after everything they’ve done to each other. But Buffy’s been chipping away at it. Little by little. The narrative Faith’s been telling herself is starting to fall apart. Buffy isn’t looking at her and seeing some less fucked up version that she could be interested in. She’s looking at _Faith_ , blood on her hands, a laundry list of sins at her feet. She sees all that and she steps in. Keeps stepping in. To Faith’s nightmares, to her problems.

Faith knows what she wants to do, what she hasn’t stopped wanting to do, no matter how many times she’s tried to tell herself not to want it. All she has to do is be brave enough to step forward and kiss Buffy. Instead, she says, “You ever lay under the tree and look up at the lights, when you were a little kid?”

Buffy shakes her head.

Pulling lightly on her hand, Faith leads her back to the corner of the room where the Christmas tree sits in all its shiny glory. Buffy follows her lead in getting down on the floor. They make space among the presents, then scoot themselves under the tree, rumpling the tree skirt in the process.

“It’s pretty,” Buffy says after a moment.

Faith breaths in the scent of evergreen, looking up at the twinkling of lights through the branches. “Yeah.”

“You used to do this when you were a kid?” Buffy asks.

Faith shrugs. “Just one year,” she says, “when my grandma was still alive. The best Christmas I ever had.”

“Your mom’s mom?”

“Yeah. She just had a little apartment, with a tiny tree, but we decorated it together.” And there were presents for Faith, real presents. And cookies. “When we were done, we laid underneath the tree. I can’t remember what she looked like but I remember that.”

Buffy’s hand slips back into hers. “What was her name?” She asks.

She has to think for a minute before it comes to her; it’s been that long since she’s had any reason to remember. “Betty,” she says finally.

Squeezing her hand, Buffy says, “She sounds like a great grandma.”

Faith watches the patterns of the blinking lights a few moments more. Buffy’s hand is soft in hers, comfortable. She asks, “What was your best Christmas?”

Surprised, Buffy thinks about that for a minute. “Probably the last year before I was called,” she says. “My parents were still together. My biggest worry was whether my mom would remember the exact pair of Mary Janes I pointed out in the mall.” She smiles a little wistfully. “My dad used to cook Christmas dinner. Tri tip. Every year. He’d wear this ridiculous hat out to fire up the grill. You know, like those Elmer Fudd hats with the ear flaps?”

Faith nods.

“Anyway,” Buffy says, sounding a little down now, “I guess that was the last really normal holiday I had. I was called a few months after that. Things got really hard with my parents.”

“The divorce you mean?”

“That,” Buffy agrees, “and when I first tried telling them about vampires.”

“It didn’t go well?” Faith guesses.

Buffy hesitates a second, then she admits, “They put me in a psych ward to be ‘evaluated.’”

Faith looks over at her, surprised.

“I never told anyone,” Buffy says, eyes fixed determinedly up into the branches. “My friends thought I went to visit my aunt in San Diego.”

“Why’d you tell me?” Faith asks.

Buffy looks back at her then, a sad smile on her face. “You know what it’s like.”

She thinks about that for a minute. Faith’s never been in a psych ward. She’s never had anyone care enough about her to try to get her head shrunk. But she remembers how scared she was when she was first called. And she knows what it feels like to want to trust someone and then have them stab you in the back. Or the stomach.

Rolling onto her side, Faith props herself up slightly, careful not to hit her head on the branches. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” she says, putting her free hand on Buffy’s hip, “but you’re kind of sucking all the Christmas cheer out of the room.”

Surprised, Buffy laughs. She swats Faith’s hand lightly. “You’re such an ass.”

“Made you laugh though,” Faith says smugly. She watches the way Buffy’s eyes sparkle in the flickering light, the pink fullness of her lips splitting into a grin. She feels jittery, nerves prickling her palms and the soles of her feet under the penguin socks she wore just to make Buffy smile. “B?” She asks.

“Yeah?”

“I have another Christmas wish,” Faith says, her voice nervous.

When Buffy raises an inquisitive eyebrow, Faith brings her hand up and gently tucks her hair behind her ear. She lingers there, thumb stroking Buffy’s cheek.

Realization dawns slowly across Buffy’s face. Her brows soften, her eyes widening as they lock with Faith’s. Funny, she thinks, all those dreams, and she never got the look in Buffy’s eyes even close to right.

“What’s your wish?” Buffy asks, her voice low. Faith’s eyes are drawn to her mouth, to the way her lips have parted just the tiniest bit as if in anticipation.

The question hangs in the air a moment, neither of them moving to bridge the distance between them. Buffy knows; she must know. She’s been in Faith’s head. But this is not the library; it is not the safe confines of their dreams. This is real. This cannot be pushed into a different part of her subconscious and left there if it hurts too much.

And there is every reason to think it will. Everything she knows about people tells her that it will. Nine times out of ten, the face they show you isn’t the real one, and it’s better not to find that out the hard way. But… she thinks about Buffy climbing into the shower in her motel room, the gentleness of her hands washing Faith clean. And she says, “Kiss me.”

Buffy shifts onto her elbow, bridging the gap between them until her mouth just brushes Faith’s. She gives Faith space to pull back, if she’s going to, and when she doesn’t, Buffy kisses her again, more fully this time.

Their mouths mirror each other, each of them soft, yielding, hesitant to be the one pushing this forward. Slowly, their hands find their way to new places. The soft cotton collar of Buffy’s pajamas skims the back of Faith’s hand as she slips it under her hair, her thumb resting just under Buffy’s jaw line. Buffy grips Faith’s hip, her other hand on the arm still holding Faith up.

When Faith chances letting her tongue lightly meet Buffy’s lower lip, Buffy meets her in the middle. Her mouth is peppermint tart from the cocoa she’s been drinking, and she happily invites Faith in. Faith clumsily presses closer to her, tongue meeting Buffy’s. They work out the right rhythm after a moment, and Faith’s head feels like it’s spinning.

Buffy makes a little pleased noise and slips her arm around Faith’s back, trying to drag her in closer. She’s willing to go, but the Christmas tree has other ideas. A low hanging branch snags her hair on the way, and she winces, pulling back automatically.

Quickly untangling herself, Faith ducks out from under the tree. She doesn’t give Buffy the opportunity to do the same, but gets on her knees and grabs both Buffy’s calves. She easily pulls her out from under the tree, stopping when Buffy’s knees are on either side of Faith’s.

Buffy laughs as she slides across the floor, her hair streaming behind her. “Your head okay?” She teases.

“Maybe you should check,” Faith says.

Sitting up, Buffy threads her fingers into Faith’s hair and lightly rubs her scalp. Their faces are close together, and Faith swallows hard, her arm going around Buffy’s back.

“I think you’re fine,” Buffy says, tilting her chin up.

Faith kisses her again, pushing forward so Buffy lies back against the floor, Faith over her. Faith balances her weight on her knees and elbows, not quite settling on top, until strong arms pull her down. She stops worrying about it, letting Buffy support her.

Buffy’s hands roam her back as their lips get reacquainted. Faith’s whole body feels pleasantly warm, and she’s hyper aware of all the places they’re pressing together. Buffy’s legs are open, her thighs on either side of Faith’s, her right foot hooked around Faith’s calf like she wants to hold her there. Faith can’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else.

She’d be embarrassed at how hard she’s finding catching her breath, if Buffy didn’t seem to be right there with her. She’s so focused on the warmth of Buffy’s lips moving with hers, the feeling of her soft hair sliding through Faith’s fingertips, that it takes her a few seconds to register that Buffy’s hand is under her shirt, on the bare skin of her lower back.

The faintest pinprick of anxiety awakens in her stomach, but Faith pushes it away, not wanting to stop kissing Buffy for even a moment. That lasts until Buffy’s hand slips around her waist, her thumb on Faith’s abdomen. A sick feeling spreads from her belly up her chest, and she rears back, nearly toppling over in her effort to get off Buffy.

“What?” Buffy asks, startled. She is on her feet in an instant, looking around the room for signs of immediate demonic threat.

Faith’s breathing hard, her eyes quickly scanning Buffy for the knife she’s sure she’ll find in her hand.

Noticing this, the pieces seem to fall into place in Buffy’s mind. She slowly holds out both hands, palm up. “No tricks,” she says softly. Then, “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Faith says, squeezing her eyes shut as she tries to get her racing heart under control.

She can hear Buffy kneel back down, before she feels a tentative hand on her leg. When Faith doesn’t shake her off, Buffy’s other hand touches her elbow.

Faith’s face feels hot with embarrassment. She must look crazy, panicking like they’re back in her nightmares. “Sorry,” she says.

“No reason to be,” Buffy says. She rubs Faith’s knee soothingly for a few moments before asking, “Can you look at me?”

Yes, she can, but she’s not sure she wants to. Faith makes herself open her eyes anyway.

A tentative smile greets her. “You okay?” Buffy asks.

Faith shrugs. She isn’t, not really. This was the perfect moment. For once she wasn’t thinking about what comes next. She wasn’t wondering why the hell Buffy would ever want her. She was in the moment. _The_ moment. The one she’s wanted since the first night they met. And now it’s ruined.

“Do you want me to stop touching you?” Buffy asks. “Sorry, I should have thought—”

Faith catches her retreating hand. “No,” she says, settling it back on her leg. She pretty much never wants that.

“Okay,” Buffy agrees, reaching with her other hand to tuck some of Faith’s hair behind her ear. “Want to get off the floor?”

That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea, so Faith nods. The two of them get to their feet, and Faith follows Buffy back to the couch.

Buffy waits for her to sit, then sits close to her, her legs curled up on the couch. She puts her hand back on Faith’s leg, her shoulder pressed into Faith’s. After a minute she says, “Should I maybe give you some kind of warning before I touch your stomach?”

“Huh?”

Flushing a little, Buffy says, “I thought maybe it was because you weren’t expecting it, so if I said something before I do that next time, would that help?”

Faith blinks at her stupidly for a moment.

“Or not…” Buffy adds weakly.

Faith snaps back to her senses. “You still want there to be a next time?”

“You don’t?” Buffy asks, her mouth drooping in obvious disappointment.

“Uh,” Faith says, “no, I do. I just thought that might have freaked you out.”

“I wash demon entrails out of my hair with disturbing regularity,” Buffy says. “I’m pretty hard to freak out.”

Faith’s still embarrassed, but beginning to feel less like she catastrophically ruined their night. She turns toward Buffy. “That might help,” she says.

“Okay,” Buffy agrees, “good.” She doesn’t look like everything’s good though.

“Is it?” Faith asks. “You don’t look like it’s good.”

“No, it is,” Buffy says, “I just…” She trails off for a second, looking down, then she shrugs despondently. “I’m not going to hurt you again,” she says quietly. “I know I can’t just say that and fix everything, but I wish you could believe me.”

“I do believe you,” Faith says truthfully. She can’t help the way she reacted, but when she’s able to think clearly, she knows that’s the truth. Buffy cares about her. There’s never going to be a knife in her hand again, not now that Faith’s awake.

Buffy doesn’t look convinced.

Talking through things has never been one of her strong suits. Faith isn’t sure how she could explain to Buffy that she isn’t afraid of her, even if her body still remembers when she was. Instead of trying to muddle through it, she slides her arm free and slips it around Buffy’s shoulder. “Do I get a do-over on this Christmas wish thing?” She asks, her voice light.

Brightening, Buffy nods. “If you want.”

“I want,” Faith says. She turns Buffy’s shoulder toward her, then kisses her.

They start slowly again, and soon Faith forgets to be worried about a repeat of that panicked feeling in her chest. Buffy smells amazing; she feels amazing. Now that they’re sitting up, Faith can touch more of her. One hand drifts under her hair to stroke the back of her neck, the other roams up and down her back, feeling the stretch and tense of well toned muscles under her fingers.

They’re not close enough together, Faith decides. She pushes Buffy’s shoulders back gently, then climbs across her lap. Her hands go to Buffy’s shoulders, sliding into her hair and then palming her neck.

This seems just fine with Buffy. She immediately slips one arm around Faith’s waist, holding her firmly in place. Her mouth meets Faith’s neck, and she kisses her way down the side, sucking gently when she reaches the place where her neck meets her shoulder.

Faith’s thighs squeeze around Buffy’s. Buffy moves on, coming back up Faith’s neck, nibbling as she goes. Her hands remain in safe places, like the curve of Faith’s arm or her thigh, until Faith says in a hoarse voice, “You can touch me.”

Buffy doesn’t stop kissing her neck, now just below her ear lobe, but she lifts her hand from Faith’s thigh, moving as far as her hip before staying in place once more.

Covering her hand, Faith moves it upward, taking her t-shirt with it. She stops at her waist, the palm of Buffy’s hand just barely touching the scar on her abdomen.

The anxious feeling comes back to her stomach, but Faith opens her eyes. The Christmas lights are still flickering over the two of them. This is Buffy’s living room. Christmas Eve. This is real, and nothing bad is going to happen.

Buffy kisses her ear lobe gently. Her fingertips brush lightly across Faith’s scar. “This okay?” She asks, her mouth close to Faith’s ear.

“Yes,” Faith says.

Leaving her hand on Faith’s scar for a minute, Buffy tilts her head back, kissing Faith’s jaw, then the corner of her mouth.

Her stomach starts to relax again, and Faith closes her eyes, letting Buffy take the lead. Buffy leaves her hand in place as she kisses Faith gently. Their exploring hands are still, playful teeth on pause. Buffy’s movements are slow, small in comparison to before, lips softly pressing against Faith’s over and over.

The lingering feeling of dread loosens its hold on her diaphragm, and Faith gradually melts against Buffy. Buffy’s hand is still on her scar, but Faith doesn’t notice anything other than the warmth of Buffy’s skin on hers. Buffy’s other hand comes up, sliding into her hair, her thumb sweeping down the side of Faith’s neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Buffy’s hand slides away from her scar, to her side, and onto her back, pulling Faith firmly against her. They edge toward where they left off earlier, Faith catching Buffy’s lower lip in her mouth and sweeping her tongue over it. She scoots in closer on Buffy’s lap, not that she has much room left to go.

It takes them a few seconds to notice that the Christmas tree’s gone dark, the timer having switched off for the night. Faith laughs against Buffy’s mouth when she finally notices.

Buffy grins back at her, blinking in the dark. “I guess it’s bedtime,” she says. 

“Guess so,” Faith agrees, although she’s reluctant to climb off Buffy.

Buffy’s thumb traces her jaw lightly for a second. “Sleep over?” She suggests.

With a wide, teasing smile, Faith says, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that was a proposition.”

Buffy’s response is a tightening of the hand in Faith’s hair and a kiss that makes Faith’s heart pound harder in her chest. “When I’m propositioning you,” she says, in a sweet voice, “you’ll know.”

Managing to swallow as Buffy lets go of her hair, Faith says, “I’ll look forward to that then.”

“Your room or mine?” Buffy asks, her hand now gently stroking down Faith’s back.

“Mine,” Faith suggests, mostly for the novelty of being able to say she _has_ a room. She gets to her feet, reaching down to help Buffy up.

Buffy takes her hand, threading their fingers together.

“Merry Christmas, B,” Faith says, taking a glance around the darkened living room.

“Merry Christmas, Faith,” Buffy says, sounding tired but happy.

Faith leads the way upstairs, Buffy’s hand warm in hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week... Christmas! And the week after that, still Christmas! :D Hope you enjoyed! Comments always appreciated. :)


	12. Chapter 12

_“Merry Christmas, B,” Faith says, taking a glance around the darkened living room._

_“Merry Christmas, Faith,” Buffy says, sounding tired but happy._

_Faith leads the way upstairs, Buffy’s hand warm in hers._

Chapter Twelve

Making her way around the coffee table, Faith steps on the tail end of the fleece blanket draped across Buffy. Supernatural reflexes keep her from falling flat on her face as her foot gets tangled. A tin of cookies is balanced in one hand, a steaming mug in the other. She successfully makes it to the couch and holds the mug out to Joyce. Joyce accepts it gingerly, making sure not to spill any of the coffee inside.

Buffy’s less careful about plucking the cookie tin from Faith’s hands. She plows into it, unearthing a sugar cookie in the shape of a Christmas wreath and biting into it. Moaning in a vaguely obscene way, she says, “Remind me again why we don’t bake Christmas cookies all year round?”

“Because then you wouldn’t appreciate them nearly as much,” Joyce says, smiling into her mug.

Faith takes her own cookie before Buffy makes her way in for seconds, then sits down on the couch beside her.

“Okay,” Buffy says with barely restrained enthusiasm, “everybody has food and drink. Is it time for presents?”

Apparently used to this, Joyce rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry, Faith,” she says. “Buffy’s a present fiend.”

“I just want to see what Santa brought me this year,” Buffy says. “I’ve been extra good.”

“Have you?” Joyce asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow. She manages to resist her daughter’s pleading eyes for another twenty seconds, then she relents. “Present time.”

“Yay!” Buffy says, practically launching herself off the couch.

Pulling Buffy’s abandoned blanket over her legs, Faith settles back into the corner of the couch, balancing the cookie tin on her knee. She watches as Buffy starts to poke through the presents scattered under the tree, coming up with two. Buffy hands the first to her mom and then she holds the other out to Faith.

“Me?” Faith asks around a mouthful of cookie. She wasn’t expecting any gifts. She accepts the package and looks down at the tag. It’s from Joyce. Faith swallows, looking between Buffy and Joyce. “But I don’t have anything for you.”

Waving her off with one hand, Joyce says, “Don’t worry about that.”

Buffy leans back under the tree, coming out with additional gifts for each of them. She keeps going until they each have a small pile of gifts in front of them. Then she sits down beside Faith, stealing half the blanket back. “You go first, Mom,” she encourages.

Setting her mug down, Joyce smiles and picks one of the boxes from her pile. She unwraps it carefully, ending up with a neatly discarded sheet of wrapping paper and a small white box. Opening it, she peers inside and smiles. “Oh, honey, these are so pretty.” She pulls an earring out of the box, holding it up to show Faith. “Thank you!”

Buffy beams at her, then looks at Faith.

Faith chooses one of the small boxes and picks carefully at the paper. It’s uncomfortable, having both of them watching her while she opens it, but she quickly gets over that feeling when she gets the gift unwrapped. It’s a lipstick set, colors ranging from brown to blood red. Exactly the shades she likes. She looks over at Joyce. “Thanks, Mrs. S.”

Joyce beams at her. After that, she finds herself getting a little into the spirit of things. They take turns opening gifts, and Faith adds things to her pile. Slippers, silver hoops, nail polish, two pretty cool tank tops, and a choker that looks a lot like the one she used to wear all the time. That one’s from Buffy. Surprised, Faith runs her fingers over the tiny silver links.

“Do you like it?” Buffy asks.

Faith looks up to find a little smile on Buffy’s lips. She nods. “I love it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Buffy says, grinning.

“Oh!” Joyce says suddenly, sitting up straight. “I almost forgot. I have one more thing for you, Faith.”

Looking at the pile of gifts she’s already received, Faith protests, “This is more than enough.”

Joyce ignores her, getting up and walking into the dining room. She comes back a moment later with something in her hand. As she comes closer, she extends her hand, displaying a key dangling on a red ribbon. “Your house key,” she says, with a warm smile.

_Oh._ Faith takes the key, looking down at it in her hand. Joyce says she wants her to stay, has cleared a room out for her even, but Faith was figuring maybe she’d change her mind once she was here a little longer. Why would she really want Faith to stay here? An extra mouth to feed, and a formerly evil one at that? The key now resting in her hand seems to suggest that Joyce _does_ want her to stay for some reason. It’s a weird feeling. Not bad weird, just… different.

“Who wants pancakes?” Joyce asks them both, saving Faith from having to say anything about the key.

XXXXX

“Explain to me again how _Gremlins_ counts as a ‘Christmas classic,’” Faith says, frowning at the TV screen.

From the other end of the couch, Buffy pokes her socked foot into Faith’s thigh. “It’s Christmas in the movie, duh.” On screen, Rand Peltzer tries to convince the shopkeeper to sell him a Mogwai.

“Yeah, but Christmas isn’t even really the focus of the movie,” Faith argues. “Mrs. S, help me out here.”

Across from them, her feet propped up on the ottoman, Joyce barely raises an eyebrow, intently reading from a book called _The Runaway Heiress_. A woman in an elaborate gown is entwined with a shirtless man on the cover. “I’m not getting involved.”

“There’s also a Christmas theme,” Buffy says.

Faith puts her hand on the foot insistently knocking into her thigh, stilling it. “What theme?”

“Mean old rich lady—the Scrooge, if you will—gets her comeuppance.” Buffy wiggles her toes against Faith’s hold.

Squeezing her foot, Faith digs the pad of her thumb into Buffy’s arch, smiling when she immediately stops resisting and relaxes her foot for more. “Fair point,” Faith says, “but that’s more of a side story. The main theme of the movie is Western greed.”

Buffy looks up from where she’s zoning out, enjoying the foot rub she’s receiving. “Wha—?”

Faith gestures at the screen, where Rand is now gifting the Mogwai to his son. “This guy goes to Chinatown, hassles the grandpa dude about buying Gizmo, ignores grandpa saying no, then gives Gizmo to his kid, who can’t even follow super simple instructions on how to take care of it, and the town gets overrun by gremlins.” She puts Buffy’s foot back down. “He’s the real villain. Not the gremlins.”

Blinking at her, Buffy says, “Huh. I never thought about it that way.”

Shrugging, Faith picks up a Christmas cookie and takes an exuberant bite. Around a mouthful of cookie, she says, “Not a Christmas movie. I rest my case.”

“Nowhere in the rules does it say that Christmas movies can’t also teach you a lesson,” Buffy protests. “In fact they usually do.”

“Yeah, about like believing in Santa Claus or the importance of not hating your family.”

“Girls,” Joyce says in a strained tone, lowering her book just enough to look at them, “are you going to watch the movie, or argue all night?”

“Watch the movie,” Buffy grumbles.

“Only because you know I’m right,” Faith says out of the side of her mouth.

“Faith,” Joyce sighs, lifting her book again.

Beaming at her angelically, Faith lifts Buffy’s opposite foot into her lap and goes back to watching the movie.

Mrs. Deagle’s just gone on her final aerial adventure when they hear a knock at the door. Faith looks away from the TV, her eyes meeting Buffy’s.

“Are we expecting anyone?” Joyce asks nervously, obviously thinking about the last time someone showed up at the house unannounced.

“No,” Buffy answers, getting to her feet. “I’ll get it.” Glancing at Faith, she gives her what she hopes is a reassuring smile. Buffy straightens her pajamas on the way, trying to look slightly more commanding than the flamingos tangled up in Christmas lights pattern would otherwise suggest. She stops at the front door, looking out the peephole.

There’s no one there.

Frowning, she unlocks the door and pulls it open slightly. There _is_ someone standing on their doormat, she realizes. It’s short, extremely so, topping out lower than Buffy’s shoulder. A dark blue cloak covers most of its form, revealing only the tip of an upturned nose. Small brown hands come up, and Buffy steps back, shifting into defensive position. The creature appears not to notice. It grasps its hood, lowering it to reveal its face.

Dark gray eyes peer up at her from a heart shaped face. A shock of white-gray hair escapes from the hood, tucked behind long pointy ears. Buffy feels a strange tightening warmth in her chest when its eyes meet hers. It takes a step toward her, swaying slightly on its feet, and says, in a high, clear voice, “Buffy Summers!”

“Uh,” Buffy starts, surprised.

The little being stumbles, falling toward her, and instinct causes Buffy to stoop, catching it before it hits the ground. She peers down at the seemingly unconscious creature in her arms.

Before she can decide what to do, she feels a hand on the small of her back. Faith peers over her shoulder. “Friend of yours?” She deadpans.

“Never seen, err,” she peers at the slackened face of the little creature, “her, before in my life. She knew me though.”

Faith leans past her, poking the little creature in the shoulder roughly. She doesn’t stir. “Did you knock her out?”

“No,” Buffy says defensively. “I didn’t have the chance to. She just passed out.”

“Are we bringing her in?”

Looking around the street, Buffy doesn’t spot anything else out of the ordinary. “I’m not really getting a hinky vibe,” she says.

“Me either.”

“Okay,” Buffy says, “I guess we’re bringing her in.” She adjusts the creature in her arms and carefully comes back through the doorway, heading for the living room. “Will you call Giles?”

When Faith joins them in the living room, she has the cordless handset pressed to her ear. “Uh,” she says in response to Giles, “it’s… an elf?” She glances at Buffy, who shrugs.

“I don’t know. She passed out before we could ask.” Faith listens for a moment, her face gradually becoming exasperated. “No, I’m not kidding,” she says. “Why would I be kidding?”

Buffy stifles a smile.

“I know it’s Christmas—will you just come over with your books and whatever,” Faith says irritably. After a moment she nods, clicking the phone off and setting it on the table. “He’ll be right over.”

Joyce is looking down at the creature with interest. “She does look like an elf, doesn’t she?”

Faith nods in agreement. “Kind of cute, as far as demons go.”

Buffy has laid the small creature on the sofa, her cloak still wrapped around her. She sighs. “I’m gonna go put on real clothes,” she says. So much for a supernatural free Christmas.

XXXXX

Giles leans over the couch, looking at the creature in interest. He’s bought a rather expansive duffel of books with him, which Buffy is unpacking onto the coffee table. Faith sits in the armchair nearest to the creature, keeping an eye on it. It’s utterly still, but Faith can hear its heart beating faintly, so at least they know she’s still alive. She doesn’t have a particularly bad feeling about the little thing, but she’s keenly aware of its presence. The sensors in her brain that indicate _not human_ keep reminding her.

“Any ideas?” Buffy asks, as she finishes unpacking the books.

“Possibly,” Giles says, carefully lifting one small hand from the creature’s side and looking at its fingers. “Three fingers,” he mutters under his breath, before placing her hand back down and glancing at Faith. “Do you see _Rhinehardt's Compendium_?”

Glancing at the table, Faith scans the books, finding it after a moment. She retrieves it, holding it out to Giles.

He leans back on his heels, quickly flipping through the book. Concentration is clear in his face, and the three of them wait. “Yes,” he says after a moment, then looks up. He holds the book out to Faith, who glances at the sketch and nods. She passes it to Buffy.

“The Fauneth,” Giles says, “are agents of the Powers That Be. They were believed to have been forced from this realm when the Old Ones took possession of earth.”

Buffy skims the entry in the book, Joyce leaning over her shoulder. “So they’re good,” she concludes. “That explains why we’re not getting a wiggins from her.”

“What does an ‘agent’ do for the Powers?” Faith asks.

Giles stands up, his knees cracking as he stretches his legs back out. Gingerly, he perches on the opposite side of the couch. “They usually give guidance on how to fight particularly large threats.”

“We never get any guidance,” Buffy says, sounding somewhat disgruntled. “It’s just, ‘Hey, Buffy, go slay that.’”

“Yes, well,” Giles says, “maybe they haven’t thought we needed the help.”

“This says that the Fauneth are believed to reside outside of this dimension,” Joyce says, still looking at the book entry, “and have only been sighted a handful of times throughout history. They only appear to those they deem worthy.” She looks up, smiling at Buffy.

Well, Faith thinks, that explains why the creature knew Buffy by name.

Before Giles can respond further, the being begins to stir on the couch. Her big eyes blink open, a little dazed, falling on Giles before they shift to Faith.

“Faith Lehane,” the creature chirps, sounding something between stunned and elated.

Faith gapes at the creature. It knows her name? But Joyce just said it only appears to people who are worthy.

“I have found you,” the creature says, then smiles beatifically. “I have found you both.”

Being the focus of the little being’s attention is like standing in direct sun. Faith feels warm from the tips of her ears down to her toes. Managing to glance away, she looks at Buffy. She looks just as bewildered.

Clearing his throat quietly, Giles manages to draw the creature’s attention his way. “Hello,” he says somewhat awkwardly.

“Hello,” the creature says. She sits up, still appearing a little shaky. “Please excuse my…”

“Slight lack of consciousness?” Buffy puts in.

“Yes,” the creature agrees, “that. I have traveled a long way and am not used to being in the flesh. It has taken its toll.” She clasps her tiny hands together in her lap, feet not quite reaching the floor in front of the couch.

“You’re one of the Fauneth?” Giles asks uncertainly.

The creature’s face wrinkles for a moment in confusion, then clears. “Ah!” She says. “Yes, that is what your kind calls us. I am Adilya,” she says, puffing her small chest up proudly. “And you are the champions.”

Faith glances at Buffy, who shrugs. “I guess you could call us that,” she says. “We’re the slayers.”

Adilya nods excitedly. “Yes,” she says. “The two who stand against the forces of darkness.”

“Uh,” Buffy agrees, “yeah, that’s us.”

That’s Buffy anyway. Faith’s not so sure she should currently be included in this category.

“Have you come with a message for us?” Giles asks.

Adilya’s small face loses some of its mirth. “No,” she admits. “I have come for your help, not as an agent of The Powers, but for my people.” She looks at Giles, and Faith can see in his face that he feels the same effect she did when Adilya looked at her. Adilya says, “We are being hunted, slaughtered. We have hidden for eons, but they have found us. We cannot fight. That is not how our power works.”

“Who’s hunting you?” Buffy asks.

Shrugging helplessly, Adilya says, “We call them the beasts. There are two of them. Huge. Cold. Ravenous.”

“Cold,” Faith says thoughtfully, glancing at the fireplace that burns cheerfully. “They’re here,” she says. “You brought the beasts here. That’s why it’s so cold out.”

Adilya inclines her head, looking apologetic. “I knew they would follow me, but I had to come to you.”

“Why us?” Buffy asks.

“You know about dimensional positioning,” Adilya half states, half questions. Off Giles’s halfhearted nod, she says, “Think of dimensions as a deck of cards. Razor thin, stacked one after another. It is relatively easy to create a hole into the next one. Much more difficult to move to the opposite side of the deck.”

“So your dimension is close to ours, on the deck,” Joyce says. She sits on the edge of Faith’s chair, appearing fascinated by this strange little creature and the story she’s telling.

Adilya nods. “This was not the closest, but it was the closest that was suitable. We need both of you,” she says, glancing back between the two slayers again. She unbuttons her cloak and reaches a hand inside, emerging with a tightly wound scroll. “It was prophesied,” she says. “The one who became two will stand against the beasts, and they shall be defeated on the fourth night of winter.”

Giles says, “The winter solstice was the 22nd. The fourth night is tonight.”

“And we’re definitely this ‘one who became two?’’’ Faith asks. This little Fauneth chick evidently thought she was going to find two champions. Maybe she doesn’t realize that Faith isn’t exactly a champion these days.

Buffy points to herself. “One,” then to Faith, “two.”

“Technically,” Faith says, “one became two with Kendra. Maybe she’s supposed to find some world with you and Kendra.”

“There are no such worlds,” Adilya says matter-of-factly. “Not at this point in the timeline. The two champions are Buffy Summers and Faith Lehane.”

“May I see that?” Giles asks, gesturing to the scroll.

Nodding, Adilya hands it over. It looks diminutive in Giles’s hands, and he takes great care in unraveling it. After a moment, he says, “I’m not familiar with this language.”

“Of course not,” Adilya says with a small smile. “No human can read that.”

Giles frowns.

“It is the language of the universe,” Adilya says in a melodic voice. “The suggestion of a thought that exists outside of time and space. There are not even really words on the paper.”

“But you said there was a prophecy,” Giles says.

“There is,” Adilya answers, “and it is there. There are prophecies that the Powers have put into your words and passed down so that you may know them. There are many, many more that you will never know.”

“I see,” Giles says, although he is clearly bothered by the idea of knowledge that exists outside the realm of human comprehension.

“Well,” Buffy says, in what Faith recognizes as her _I mean business_ voice, “sunset’s in about 30 minutes. I guess we’re going hunting.”

The word fills Faith with an odd mixture of excitement and dread. The last thing she tried to slay _was_ Buffy, and now they’ll be slaying together again. Will she still remember everything she used to know, after so long away? She stands up. “I’ll get changed.”

Buffy nods, already helping Giles unroll a map of Sunnydale so they can scope out possible hiding places for the beasts.

Upstairs, Faith changes into jeans and a long sleeve shirt, plus a hoodie and some boots. She looks at herself in the mirror for a moment, then picks up the lipsticks Joyce gave her. She carefully applies a dark red, fluffing her hair slightly. Cutting a dangerous smile at her reflection, she nods. Not quite like the old days, but it’ll do. She already feels more able to kick some ass.

When she swings open her bedroom door to head back down, she nearly smacks into Adilya. “Jesus,” Faith says, taking a step back.

“I did not mean to startle you,” Adilya says, big gray eyes fixed on Faith’s, “but I wished to speak with you in private.”

Warily, Faith steps back into her room, leaving the door open for the little Fauneth to join her. Seeming to float across the floor, Adilya comes in, walking as far as the bed before she turns around to look up at Faith. “You are thinking that you cannot be the champion. That the prophecy is incorrect.”

“You read minds now, too?” Faith asks flatly.

“No,” Adilya says, “just faces.”

“Look,” Faith says, “it’s not that I don’t want to help you. I’ll do it.”

Adilya says nothing for a long moment, and the two of them stare at each other. Once again, that warm feeling starts in Faith’s chest and expands throughout her body.

“Do you believe in predestination?” Adilya asks at length.

Surprised, Faith blinks. “You mean like nothing we do matters because we’re either going to heaven or hell already?”

Tilting her head, Adilya smiles. “More or less.”

Faith’s never thought about this before. “I guess not,” she says uncertainly. “Why? Are you telling me that’s real?”

“Yes and no,” Adilya says. “No one’s fate is set in stone, but there are moments—big moments—that will come to pass. We know this from the prophecies.”

“So you’re saying... what?”

“You have done things that took you down one path,” Adilya says, “a path of darkness, with only pain and hate, where nothing you did seemed to mean anything.”

Faith winces.

“Redemption though, isn’t that what this holiday—your Christmas—is all about?” Adilya smiles.

It’s a struggle not to look away from the creature’s large, shrewd eyes.

“There will be a day when we meet again,” Adilya says opaquely. She smiles, and her little face lights up. “You think you know what's to come,” she says, her voice soft, “who you are… You haven’t even begun.”

“What’s that mean?” Faith asks, unnerved.

“Time will reveal all,” Adilya says, still smiling. “For now, just trust that the universe sent me to the right place. You are the champion my people need.”

“Yeah,” Faith says, still not feeling a hundred percent about any of this, “okay.”

XXXXX

Cold for California has given way to just plain cold by the time Buffy and Faith walk into Miller’s Woods. They’re both wearing coats, and Buffy has added a hat and gloves to her ensemble. Faith doesn’t think it’s quite _that_ cold, but she keeps her judgment to herself. They’ve been scouring the town since just before sunset, and it’s been a few hours with zero sightings of the beasts in question. They should be relatively easy to spot, based on Adilya’s description. Eight feet tall, horned beasts with cloven hooves and tattered robes, always in a pair. There aren’t too many places something like that could be hiding.

The woods are eerily silent around them, only the sound of their feet crunching through foliage breaks up the quiet. This is Faith’s first opportunity to patrol since she’s been awake, and her body is on high alert. She’s admittedly a little anxious, wondering if her body will still remember what to do, or whether she’s really ready to have weapons back in her hands. The appearance of Adilya has made that decision for her. Ready or not, she’s got a stake in her sleeve and a hatchet strapped to the outside of her thigh.

Buffy’s similarly outfitted, a stake clutched in her gloved hand. Maybe she can sense Faith’s nervousness, because she stays close to Faith’s side. They’ve gone a ways into the woods when Faith hears a strange sound from ahead of them. She glances at Buffy, who nods. She heard it too.

They soften their footsteps, creeping forward as quietly as they can manage. As they move, the sounds become clearer, two different voices, each speaking some kind of guttural language. The voices are rapid, overlapping each other, as though in an argument.

Holding up her hand for Faith to stop, Buffy gestures for Faith to step closer to her and look ahead. Faith does as she’s suggesting, stooping slightly to peer out through a break in the trees. Ahead of them, two gigantic demons stand, their backs to Buffy and Faith. Curved horns frame their heads, and each has a large hump on its back. They may not be exactly eight feet high as Adilya described, but they’re definitely huge.

Faith stretches downward, un-strapping the hatchet from her thigh and flipping it into her hand. The handle is smooth wood, sturdy. She can do this, she tells herself.

“I say we go for the one on the left first,” Buffy suggests in a whisper, already unzipping her coat for maximum maneuverability. “They’ll split us up, but maybe we can get in some damage first.”

Faith nods her agreement.

Buffy goes first, silently darting through the trees between them and the beasts. Faith is at her heels, fist clenched around her weapon.

The beasts are lumbering, barely managing to turn toward them before Buffy sails through the air and plows feet first into the midsection of the closest one. She practically bounces off, but the beast stumbles slightly. Faith’s already behind him, slashing through the back of where she assumes the thing’s knees are. He roars in pain, swinging one massive fist back in her direction.

Faith ducks, and Buffy has time to land another hit, this time with her knife. She slams the blade into the thing’s side, yanking up and out. The beast cries out, flailing back toward Buffy.

The other beast grasps her arm, sending Buffy pinwheeling backward before she can get another stab in. It’s one on one then, and Faith concentrates on the task at hand.

She jumps, side kicking at its neck while in the air. The beast dips its head, deflecting her kick with one gigantic horn. It lowers its head as she lands, charging directly at her. Faith tumbles and rolls out of the way, jumping back to her feet quickly.

Her axe slashes again, this time at the thing’s side. The axe finds purchase, and a resounding _crunch_ lets her know she’s broken a bone, probably a rib.

That doesn’t slow the beast down. Bony fingers claw at her, ripping the sleeve of her coat, but failing to find her skin. Faith’s stake drops into her hand, and she strikes, first the axe again, then her stake, solidly into its torso.

The metallic scent of blood fills her nostrils as the beast rears back. Its robes are darkening with spilled blood. She risks a glance behind it and sees Buffy holding her own, mid aerial kick that connects solidly with her beast’s meaty face.

Faith moves to capitalize on the injuries she’s delivered to her own demon, but the second she wasted checking on Buffy has given it time to adjust position. The beast seizes her arm, yanking her around and flinging her bodily into a tree.

She lands back first, a groan of pain escaping her mouth, but rolls quickly out of the way as the beast raises a leg and tries to stomp on her. Her axe cuts through the air, burying itself in the back of the beast’s leg.

It slumps sideways, a garbled scream emerging from its mouth. Fangs line the bloodless hole of its mouth, and Faith vows to stay out of the path of those.

The beast reaches to grab her as she comes closer again, but Faith jumps its grasping arm and side kicks, her foot shoving the protruding axe deeper into its leg. The leg gives out fully, the beast falling.

Faith grasps the handle, yanking the axe free, and jumps easily onto its back. Raising her weapon over her head with both hands, she tightens her knees around the beast’s humped back and takes aim at the part of its head she can see between the giant twisted horns.

Swinging downward, she buries the axe in the back of its skull. The beast strains upward once more, then collapses on the ground, still. She pulls the axe loose and looks quickly for Buffy.

The other beast is sinking to its knees slowly, Buffy hanging doggedly onto its horns, riding it to the ground. Her stake protrudes from its eye socket. As the beast reaches the ground, she steps neatly off, dusting off her hands.

Panting in exertion, Faith gets back to her feet over the demon’s fallen body. Her muscles tingle as she slowly relaxes, the threat level in her body coming down bit by bit. She feels strong. In control. Like a slayer. She looks up, meeting Buffy’s eyes across the two bodies. Buffy looks similarly out of breath, her cheeks pink, ponytail half loosened and sticking out haphazardly. She gives Faith a dazzling grin.

Not wasting the time it would take to walk around the fallen demons, Faith hops easily over the first, then the second, landing beside Buffy. As Buffy raises questioning eyebrows, Faith’s hands slip inside her unfastened coat and seize her waist. Her mouth meets Buffy’s, hands crushing her against Faith’s frame.

Buffy’s arms come around Faith, kissing her back with equal ferocity.

They rock on their heels, supernatural balancing skills keeping them upright even as they press harder and closer to each other. One hand slides down to cup Buffy’s ass. The other leaves the warmth of her coat to knot in her hair, strong thumb digging into the back of her neck. Faith sucks Buffy’s lip, letting her teeth dig in just enough for Buffy to whimper into her mouth.

The earthy smell of the disturbed forest floor is overshadowed slightly by the metallic scent of blood. It feels just like home to Faith. How many nights did they spend like this, hunting together, fighting together, stepping through ash with pounding hearts and coiled muscles? How many times did Faith think about doing exactly this, only to catch herself and shove those thoughts down?

There’s no repression this time. No need to cut her eyes away and pretend that ribs are all she’s got on her mind. Buffy’s gripping Faith’s back hard enough to hurt, her hips nudging into Faith’s every time Faith squeezes her ass. Faith is seriously considering picking Buffy up, pinning her back against the nearest tree, and finding out how far she’s willing to take this semi public make out, when the air around them suddenly becomes warmer.

In the space of a breath, the air heats what must be twenty degrees. They both feel it, breaking apart and looking around warily. The bodies on the ground are gone.

“I guess we saved the Fauneth,” Buffy says, sounding a little breathless. Faith’s lipstick is staining her lips.

“Guess we did,” Faith agrees.

“We should let Giles know,” Buffy says, sounding reluctant.

“Guess we should.”

Buffy takes her wrist, her thumb sweeping over Faith’s pulse point. “The sooner we tell him, the sooner we can get back to this,” she points out hopefully.

Or they could just get back to this right now and let Giles figure it out for himself now that Sunnydale’s back to its normal state of weather. She hasn’t slayed anything in months, and the rush is hitting her all at once, making her hands itch to slip inside Buffy’s clothes.

What she’s feeling must be plain on her face, because Buffy kisses her again, slower this time, and says, “Let’s go home.”

Faith lets Buffy take her hand and pull her back toward town, out of the woods. She’s already started thinking of ways to get Giles out of the house faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, there is still one more chapter that takes place on December 25th, because the next one picks up right where this one leaves off... :D Hope you enjoyed! Comments always appreciated. :)


	13. Chapter 13

_What she’s feeling must be plain on her face, because Buffy kisses her again, slower this time, and says, “Let’s go home.”_

_Faith lets Buffy take her hand and pull her back toward town, out of the woods. She’s already started thinking of ways to get Giles out of the house faster._

Chapter Thirteen

“We knew you were successful when it finally warmed up,” Giles is saying. “Adilya wanted us to thank you both.”

Faith’s only half listening to him. Buffy’s standing beside him on the opposite side of the kitchen, loosening her hair from her disheveled ponytail. She shakes it free, stretching her neck back as she runs her fingers through her hair. Faith eyes the side of her throat, thinking about running her tongue over it.

“I guess we won’t be seeing her again,” Buffy says. She looks at the kitchen counter for a moment, before she spots an apple and raises it to her mouth, taking a hearty bite.

“For the Fauneth’s sake, I hope not,” Giles says.

Juice slicks Buffy’s lips.

Faith swallows and shifts in her chair.

“She seemed very sweet,” Joyce says. “I heated up some leftovers for her, and she complimented our mashed potatoes,” she says to Faith, smiling.

“Hmm?” Faith says. “Oh, yeah?”

“You made dinner for our demon houseguest?” Buffy asks incredulously. She leans past Giles, pitching the apple core into the trash before she stands up straight and begins licking the juice from her fingers.

Crossing her legs, Faith forces herself to look down at the kitchen island. Good ol’ white laminate. Nothing sexy about that.

“She wasn’t a demon, strictly speaking,” Giles puts in.

“Yeah, yeah,” Buffy says. “It wouldn’t matter if she was. The woman has had Spike over for cocoa and girl talk.”

“He’s an interesting person!” Joyce says defensively. “Vampire. Whatever!”

Risking a look back up, Faith sees Buffy frowning at a stain on the cuff of her shirt. “Damn!” She says. “Beast left me something to remember him by.” She starts to unbutton her shirt, revealing the tank top underneath.

Faith can’t help but think about Buffy’s fingers unbuttoning _Faith’s_ shirt. Then her jeans. Then slipping inside her jeans…

Buffy shrugs the shirt off, the soft curve of her shoulder coming free.

_Fuck._ Squeezing her legs together, Faith goes back to studying the countertop.

“I’ve yet to meet a slaying related stain I can’t get out,” Joyce says dryly. “Toss it down to the laundry, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks Mom,” Buffy says.

The three of them keep making conversation, but Faith is officially checked out. Her eyes keep wanting to go back to Buffy, but that’s not helping anything. She takes a measured sip from the glass of water Buffy handed her when they got home, hoping that giving her body something else to concentrate on will distract her.

She doesn’t know how long it finally takes before Giles bids them goodnight, but it feels like an eternity. By the time Buffy closes the door behind him and comes back to join them in the kitchen, the twitchy, needy feeling Faith’s been nursing this whole time has subsided slightly, but it’s nowhere close to being gone. That post-slay ache always made itself known, but never so much as when she slayed with Buffy, and it looks like nothing’s changed there. She can’t tell if Buffy feels the same. She’s never admitted that slaying gets her keyed up, but if the way she responded to Faith in the woods is anything to go by, it does.

Joyce excuses herself, telling them that she’s going up to bed. She gives Buffy a half hug, pats Faith’s arm, and heads upstairs, leaving the two of them in the kitchen. The island stands between them, but their eyes meet across the space. Buffy’s inscrutable; Faith can’t tell what she’s thinking. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, until they hear the soft click of a door closing upstairs. Then she comes around the island, hooks one finger in Faith’s belt loop, and says, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Faith says. Her hands sweep up Buffy’s arms to her shoulders. _Jesus_ her skin is soft.

They look at each other a moment, Buffy tucking her other hand into Faith’s front pocket as though she wants to anchor her there. “We did good tonight,” she says. “How’d it feel—patrolling together again?”

“A little weird,” Faith admits, “but good.”

“Yeah,” Buffy says, looking a little wistful. She looks down toward their feet. “I missed it,” she says softly. “I missed you. I mean, even before…”

Buffy says things like this often enough, but it still surprises Faith each time. “I did too,” she admits. Her hand creeps under Buffy’s hair to the side of her neck. When Buffy looks up, Faith leans in, her lips finding Buffy’s cheek, then the corner of her mouth, before they sort it out and press their mouths together. Buffy’s mouth is soft, warm, and Faith immediately feels that familiar tightening in her stomach letting her know that her body’s still ready to go.

She can feel Buffy grinning as they kiss. “What?” Faith asks, pulling back just enough to talk.

“Just wondering,” Buffy says, one eyebrow curving up, “first slay in a long time... how’re you feeling?”

The smirk on her face lets Faith know exactly what she means. “I could really go for a non-fat yogurt,” Faith says thoughtfully.

“Is that all?” Buffy asks, her hands meandering over Faith’s hips until they’re situated over the back pockets of her jeans.

“Something else on the menu?” Faith asks.

“Could be,” Buffy says, gripping Faith’s ass a little harder as she presses her body against Faith’s. One hand comes up and brushes Faith’s hair back, leaving room for her lips to meet Faith’s throat.

Eyes slipping closed, Faith forgets to say her next retort. Her breath hitches in her chest at Buffy’s soft mouth moving up her neck. Buffy’s breathing hard herself, exhaling against Faith’s skin each time she drags her lips to another spot.

When Buffy’s teeth nip at her ear lobe, the slight control she’s managed to get over her hormones slips away. Faith grabs Buffy’s hair, pulling her head back until she’s in kissing range. She finds Buffy’s mouth none too gently, immediately maneuvering Buffy’s lips apart and sweeping her tongue over hers.

Buffy makes a soft, pleased noise, but she puts a restraining hand against Faith’s shoulder.

“What?” Faith asks, surprised. She blinks confusedly at Buffy, taking in her parted mouth and the rosy flush creeping up her chest toward the hollow of her throat.

“The kitchen’s a little exposed,” Buffy says, angling her head at the windows. “Upstairs?”

_Oh. Right._ Faith nods, letting Buffy lead her out of the kitchen and to the stairs. Buffy goes first, Faith a step behind her, her eyes firmly fixed to her ass.

In Buffy’s room, Faith closes the door behind them as Buffy flicks on the small lamp next to the bed. They meet at the end of the bed, tentatively at first, then with more courage. Faith fiddles with the bottom of Buffy’s tank until Buffy pushes her hands gently out of the way and yanks it up over her head.

Making quick work of her bra, Faith’s intent on undoing Buffy’s jeans next, but she gets distracted by Buffy’s newly revealed tits. One arm still around her, she brings her free hand up to Buffy’s breast. Faith’s fingers skim over Buffy’s skin, rousing her nipple to attention, cupping the perfect shape of her with her palm. It feels like she might still be dreaming. She never expected to find herself here for real, with Buffy half naked in her arms.

Buffy presses her chest harder against Faith’s hand, winding her hand in Faith’s hair and bringing their mouths back together. Forgetting all about the pants she was planning to tackle next, Faith gets lost in what they’re doing. Impossibly smooth skin under her hands, the place where soft belly blends into a line of muscle. The hollow of Buffy’s throat and sound she makes when Faith dips her tongue into it.

Foreplay is not a thing she’s ever wasted a lot of time on, especially after becoming a slayer. Why waste time when you can get right to the grand finale? But with Buffy, she takes her time, fingers finding new parts of Buffy’s body to explore. The delicate skin on the underside of her arm, the birthmark under her left breast. The little dimples framing her spine.

By the time she finally reaches for Buffy’s jeans, her body is practically buzzing in anticipation. Buffy’s lips are fixed to Faith’s neck, making it hard to concentrate on what she’s supposed to be doing with her fingers. It takes Faith a frustrating few seconds to unfasten Buffy’s jeans, then tug down the zipper. She appreciated the tightness of Buffy’s pants two hours ago, when she was watching her ass in them, but now she mutters a curse under her breath, trying to yank them down Buffy’s thighs.

Snorting a laugh against Faith’s neck, Buffy asks, “You need a little help?”

“Unless you want me to tear them off,” Faith says, then licks her lips, thinking about that. “Want me to tear them off?”

“Tempting,” Buffy says, “but these are my favorite jeans.” She puts her hands beside Faith’s and pushes at her jeans, wiggling her ass side to side to help them slide down.

Faith takes a step back, watching Buffy push her jeans down and kick them off. That leaves her in cream colored panties. Cute, sporty, and doing absolutely nothing to disguise the wet spot soaking through them. Momentarily forgetting how to blink, Faith’s eyes zero in on the wet fabric.

“Off?” Buffy asks softly, running her thumb under the waistband of her underwear.

Normal function at least partially resumed, Faith blinks, then nods. “Off,” she agrees.

Buffy doesn’t hesitate in sliding her underwear down and stepping free of them. Faith’s seen Buffy naked before, but not in real life, and not under quite these circumstances. She’s gorgeous, and Faith can’t help but stop for a second to just look at her. Buffy lets her, leaving her arms relaxed at her sides, as Faith’s eyes roam down her body. Faith gets stuck for a moment at the slight flare of Buffy’s hips, the uninterrupted slope of her hip into her thigh, the twitching of the strong muscle there trying to stay still for Faith’s inspection. Then she closes the space between them, and Buffy’s hands find the hem of her shirt.

It takes a moment for Faith to realize Buffy’s trying to pull her shirt up. She’s single mindedly focused on the fact that she’s now holding Buffy’s ass in her hands.

“Faith,” Buffy says, pulling her shirt a little harder.

_Oh._ Faith releases Buffy long enough for her to tug Faith’s shirt gently up and off, dropping it aside. Faith reaches back, unclasping her bra and shrugging it off to join the rest of their clothes on the floor.

Reaching for her, Buffy grasps her hips, pausing. “Okay if I touch you?” She asks, before her fingers slip far enough to touch Faith’s stomach.

Faith swallows over a sudden lump of emotion in her throat. “Yeah,” she says.

Hands still on Faith’s hips, Buffy sits back on the bed, pulling Faith to stand between her parted legs. She keeps her touch light as she moves onto Faith’s sides.

The anxiety they’re both worried about doesn’t come, but Faith does feel a little self-conscious. This is the ugliest part of her body on full display inches from Buffy’s face. She’s got two pink, bumpy scars on her stomach now: the one Buffy put there and the circular puckered depression in her skin where she pulled out the feeding tube. Not to mention the still swollen little lump where the IV once sat. Her body seems to be taking longer to heal, probably due to how very much healing it’s had to do recently.

Buffy doesn’t seem to see any of that. She nuzzles her face against Faith’s breasts, kissing her skin lightly. Both hands come up Faith’s sides, her thumbs passing right over Faith’s scars without hesitation. Faith’s hands rest on Buffy’s shoulders, squeezing when Buffy’s tongue finds one of her nipples.

Tongue still toying with Faith’s nipple, Buffy’s hands come back down to Faith’s pants, making quick work of unfastening them. She pushes them down, Faith’s underwear with them. When they reach her knees, Faith shakes out one leg, then the other, wiggling the jeans to her ankles and kicking them off.

Buffy leaves her nipple behind, moving to the skin between Faith’s breasts and downward. Her arms come around Faith’s waist, one hand at the small of her back, the other sliding down onto Faith’s butt.

Bracing one knee on the bed beside Buffy’s hip, Faith slings her other leg over Buffy and sits down in her lap. Buffy pulls her in until Faith’s as snug against her as she can be. Faith’s so wet it’s embarrassing, or at least it would be, if she didn’t see Buffy’s lips curl into a satisfied smile when she notices.

They go back to kissing, Buffy’s fingernails scraping down Faith’s back as they do. Every time she shifts in Buffy’s lap, she gets the barest hint of pressure against her pussy. It’s maddening, and Faith’s torn between never wanting it to stop and wanting to push Buffy down on her back so Faith can get better traction to grind against her.

Buffy seems to feel similarly, because she cradles Faith’s ass and stands up, easily lifting Faith with her. She turns, climbing onto the bed knees first and putting Faith down on her back. On top of her, Buffy runs her hand down between them, eagerly dipping between Faith’s legs.

Faith’s eyes flutter for a second before she gets control of her face back. Buffy’s middle finger slides down her slit, sinking into the wetness and spreading it between her lips as she comes back up, gently nudging against Faith’s clit. Faith sucks in a breath as her clit twitches in response.

She shifts, turning them both so they’re on their sides, Buffy sandwiched against her, hand still between Faith’s legs.

Buffy doesn’t lose her stride. Her lips find Faith’s collarbone, then her chin, then her mouth. Her fingers move lower, circling Faith’s opening until Faith makes a frustrated sound against her mouth.

Buffy slides inside her. Faith’s already feeling achy and wanting, and she grips Buffy’s forearm, pushing her fingers in deeper. Buffy’s game. Her fingers work further into Faith’s pussy, her knuckles pressing into the sensitive skin around Faith’s hole. When she pulls back, she plunges in a little harder.

“You like that?” Buffy asks against her lips, her voice low. She thrusts inside Faith again, stiffening her fingers.

“Uh huh,” Faith says, mouth half open, eyes clenched shut.

Buffy doesn’t need to be told twice. Strong fingers happily take to fucking Faith, while her mouth explores Faith’s chest. She kisses and licks her way around, until her mouth covers Faith’s nipple and sucks hard.

_“Fuck,”_ Faith says, her hips jolting toward Buffy’s hand.

Smiling around her nipple, Buffy gives her a soothing lick.

When she finally pulls her fingers back and moves them up to Faith’s clit, Faith’s practically digging her nails into Buffy’s back. Buffy meets her clit with two fingers, lightly at first. She starts to circle it, increasing her pressure until Faith groans against her hair. Then she settles into a steady rhythm against Faith’s clit.

Faith screws her eyes shut in concentration. Buffy’s still circling and rubbing her clit, showing no signs of boredom or tiredness. She presses warm, soft kisses to Faith’s shoulder, the side of her neck, the top of her breast. Faith’s hand rests against her back, keeping her firmly tucked against Faith’s side.

She’s trying to come, she really is. Everything Buffy’s doing feels good, and God knows she’s wanted this for long enough… she just can’t relax. She tries tensing the muscles in her legs. She tries reaching between them and palming Buffy’s tit, rolling her nipple between her fingers and feeling it respond for her. It’s good. It’s great. It’s… not working. And the harder she tries not to worry about it, to just focus on the feeling of Buffy’s hand between her legs, the harder it is to do. “B,” she says, “stop.”

Buffy’s hand goes still immediately. She tilts her head back and looks up at Faith. “You okay?”

Faith shakes her head, shifting her pelvis away a little.

Getting the hint, Buffy pulls her hand back, touching Faith’s hip lightly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Faith says, closing her legs. “It’s just not going to happen.”

Buffy’s forehead wrinkles in confusion, then embarrassment. “Oh,” she says.

The look on her face makes Faith feel like shit. “It’s not you,” she says quickly.

“Is there something else you want me to do?” Buffy asks.

Faith shakes her head.

Buffy’s quiet for a minute, then she rolls on her back, putting a little space between them.

Feeling jittery and self conscious, Faith stares at the ceiling in the dark. This isn’t the first time this has happened to her, but she hasn’t typically been with someone whose feelings she gives a shit about. She’d either fake it, or just roll off and bid them farewell. It’s different with Buffy. Faith’s wanted this forever. Not just the sex, but the whole thing. The two of them stripped bare and open to each other. Slaying beasts then coming home together, no pretenses, no pretending they don’t want the same thing.

Buffy’s offering her everything she wants, but somehow Faith’s still found a way to fuck it up. She’s sure that this didn’t happen on Buffy’s trip to the other world. There’s no way Buffy’s going to want to try this again after this.

The idea that she’s ruined this completely makes her feel a little panicked, and she rolls onto her side reaching for Buffy. Buffy doesn’t protest as Faith cozies up against her side. Her eyes are closed, her body a little tense.

Faith lowers her lips to Buffy’s shoulder, kissing her gently. She keeps going, making her way to Buffy’s neck, where she parts her lips slightly, letting her lower lip drag along the side of Buffy’s throat.

“Faith,” Buffy says softly.

Not stopping, Faith puts her hand on Buffy’s stomach, low, ready to move down and in between her legs.

Covering Faith’s hand with hers, Buffy says, “Don’t.”

Stung, Faith leans away from her. “You don’t want me to touch you?”

“I want you to tell me what just happened,” Buffy says, obviously distressed. “Did I do something that freaked you out?”

“No,” Faith says.

“Was it just… not good?”

“No,” Faith says again, feeling even more horrible now. “I told you, it wasn’t you.”

“Then what—”

“Sometimes I just can’t come,” Faith says. “I get in my head or whatever.” She risks a look at Buffy. She still looks confused and upset. That makes two of them.

When Buffy speaks again, she sounds a little hesitant. “Do you want to do it yourself?” She asks. “I know how it feels, after slaying…”

She’s not wrong. Admittedly, Faith’s feeling sore and frustrated now, but no, she couldn’t even make herself come at this point. “No,” she says, “I want you.”

Buffy says, “I’d rather wait until we can both enjoy it.”

“I’ll _enjoy_ touching you.”

“Next time,” Buffy says, sounding like she wants to let her down gently.

Faith nods curtly, then sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She leans down to gather her clothes from the floor.

“Faith?” Buffy asks, in that same concerned voice.

“I’m gonna go,” Faith says, managing to snag her pants.

From behind her, there’s the sound of bed sheets rustling. It isn’t until Buffy presses against her back, wrapping her arms around Faith’s shoulders, that Faith realizes her eyes are burning, her heart beating a little too quickly.

“Stop,” Buffy says softly.

Faith does, for a second. Her chest feels tight, her breathing a little too shallow. She can’t stay here. There obviously won’t _be_ a next time after this. Buffy keeps giving her new opportunities, and Faith’s bullshit keeps getting in the way of them. That scene last night in the living room, now this… How many times is Buffy gonna try this before she decides to cut her losses? She could have anyone she wants. Why would she want _Faith_ of all people? Bad enough to be a fuck up, to have gone evil, to now be homeless and reliant on her and her mom. Now Faith can’t even fuck her.

She’s embarrassed. She’s pissed. Most of all, she just needs to go be in her own bed and think about how badly she managed to fuck this up.

“Come back to bed,” Buffy says, and Faith hates the way her voice sounds. Hurt, disappointed.

Shaking her head, Faith pulls away and gets to her feet. “I gotta go,” she says, not looking at Buffy. She steps into her jeans, pulling them up to her waist before she throws her shirt over her head. She doesn’t bother fastening her pants or finding the rest of her stuff before she opens the door and steps into the hall. All she can think about is getting away.

XXXXX

Buffy stares at the closed door for a long while, as if it might open again at any moment. When it doesn’t, she slowly gets to her feet and walks to her dresser. Pulling pajamas free from the drawer, she steps into them on autopilot. Her stomach feels sick, her chest tight in the way it gets when she’s trying not to cry. She climbs back onto her bed, into the space that was warm with Faith’s body just a minute ago, and sits back against the headboard, pulling her knees up to her chest.

She tries to tell herself this isn’t like the other times—this isn’t Angel losing his soul. This isn’t waking up alone in Parker’s room. But it feels like that. At the end of the day, she’s still sitting here alone, with the person she trusted and allowed herself to be vulnerable with nowhere to be found. She and Faith have been in each other’s heads. Buffy’s told her things she’s never told anyone else. She’s seen things from Faith’s past that she knows Faith’s never shared with anyone else either. It should have been different with them.

Instead, this is somehow her worst experience yet. Not only are they not waking up tomorrow morning all cuddled up together, but Faith didn’t even stay five minutes past their aborted sex attempt. And she can say it wasn’t Buffy, but how can it not have been? Even if it wasn’t that Buffy was _bad_ exactly, Faith obviously isn’t comfortable with her. Maybe it’s because of what she knows about Buffy and the other world version of Faith, or maybe it’s because of their history together, but obviously there’s something wrong. Maybe this isn’t what Faith really wants. Maybe she was caught up in the rush of slaying again after so long. Buffy knows how that feels.

Grinding the heel of her hand against her now burning eyes, Buffy reaches for the lamp beside her bed and flicks it off. Alone in the dark, she burrows under the covers, telling herself she isn’t going to cry. Her body’s just on a rollercoaster of hormones, from the slaying to the sex, to Faith’s subsequent abrupt departure. That’s obviously the only reason her eyes are welling up and her stomach hurts like this. She closes her eyes. She _will_ go to sleep and she will _not_ cry. The walls are too thin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post early this week because I was excited about this chapter (and to bring you pain lol)! :) Hope you enjoyed. Comments are always appreciated!


	14. Chapter 14

_Grinding the heel of her hand against her now burning eyes, Buffy reaches for the lamp beside her bed and flicks it off. Alone in the dark, she burrows under the covers, telling herself she isn’t going to cry. Her body’s just on a rollercoaster of hormones, from the slaying to the sex, to Faith’s subsequent abrupt departure. That’s obviously the only reason her eyes are welling up and her stomach hurts. She closes her eyes. She_ will _go to sleep and she will_ not _cry. The walls are too thin._

Chapter Fourteen

The morning dawns chilly and clear, and Faith stays in bed long past when a normal person would consider reasonable. Bed is warm and it’s safe. There’s no danger of having to face Buffy as long as she stays burrowed in this little cocoon. In spite of having stayed up half the night, running the whole thing through her mind over and over, she’s no closer to knowing what to do next. Once the panic subsided, the overarching feeling that remained was feeling like complete and utter shit. Buffy asked her to stay, and Faith left. Not just left, but practically ran out.

And the thing that sticks with her, now in the cold light of morning, is how hard Buffy was trying to make things good for her. She was working around Faith’s weird thing with her stomach. She asked if what she was doing was good. She cared whether Faith was enjoying herself. She cared whether Faith was comfortable. And Faith’s way of repaying her for that was to storm off. If bad sex wasn’t enough to scare Buffy off, the aftermath sure as shit was.

The only way to find out what Buffy’s thinking about all of this is to talk to her; Faith knows that. The idea is just also terrifying. She has no idea what Buffy might say. Does she want to forget this ever happened? Just be friends? Faith doesn’t _want_ to forget this happened. She doesn’t want to be just friends. She doesn’t want Buffy to stop her new habit of touching Faith all the time, and she doesn’t want to go back to watching Buffy on patrol from the corner of her eye, pretending she wants yet another high five just so she can feel Buffy’s skin on hers for a second.

When she hears footsteps in the hall that disappear into the bathroom, Faith finally throws the covers back and sits up. She can’t hide in here all day. She needs to find Buffy. Getting up, she pulls on a pair of pants and looks at her hair in the mirror. It’s a little wild, not her best look, but you gotta work with what you got. She pulls on a zip up hoodie and opens her door, making her way downstairs on socked feet. From the second floor, she hears the shower start up.

She finds Buffy in the living room, sitting on the couch with a blanket on her lap, flipping disinterestedly through a magazine. She looks up when Faith comes in, not quite smiling. “Hi,” Buffy says.

“Hey,” Faith says. She sits at the opposite side of the couch, leaving plenty of space between herself and Buffy’s curled up legs.

Buffy looks tired, her eyes maybe a little red. She’s still in pajamas. “You slept in pretty late,” she says.

“Didn’t get a lot of sleep,” Faith admits.

“I know the feeling.”

Now that she’s here, Faith has no idea how to start the conversation she knows they need to have. They sit in uncomfortable silence for a minute.

When Buffy speaks, it’s not about last night at all. “Giles called,” she says. “He wanted to know if Thursday works to meet the lawyer.”

Shrugging, Faith says, “Sure, not like I have somewhere else to be.”

“I’ll let him know.” Buffy toys with the cuff of her shirt, looking down at the magazine again.

“About last night—” Faith starts at the same time as Buffy asks, “Are you still thinking about turning yourself in?”

This is definitely not where she saw this conversation going when she came down here. “I haven’t decided anything,” Faith says, knowing that’s not what Buffy wants to hear. Or maybe it is now. Maybe Faith finally screwed up badly enough that Buffy doesn’t care if she stays or goes.

Buffy nods and looks even more tired than she did a minute ago. “I’ve been thinking,” she says, “about what you said, about wanting to do the right thing.”

Her voice is hesitant in a way that gives Faith a bad feeling in her stomach. Buffy looks up from the magazine to meet Faith’s eyes. The space between them is two feet at most, but might as well be miles, and Faith wishes Buffy would reach across and touch her, or stretch her leg out and knock Faith’s knee. Anything to tell her she doesn’t have to feel as awkward and nervous as she does.

“I thought maybe it would help if you talked to someone who knows some stuff about atonement.”

She can’t mean…

“I talked to Angel,” Buffy says. “He said—”

“You talked to Angel about me?” Faith asks, incredulous that Buffy would talk to Angel of all people about her. Buffy’s seen things in her head that no one else ever has, and Faith’s been okay with that because she thought it would be _just_ Buffy knowing her secrets. She doesn’t need to talk to Angel, or Giles, or anyone else about her shit. She’s never relied on anyone in her life and she sees no reason to start now. Buffy is different, or Faith thought she was anyway. As for Angel, he’s somewhere on her list of people she eventually has to make things right with. She did try to kill him, after all. He’s just not very high on the list because she still kind of hates the guy. And since when is Buffy even still taking to Angel? Didn’t he blow town and ditch her?

Buffy flushes. “Not, like, the specifics. I just told him you were awake, and you’re trying to figure out what comes next.”

Anger builds in Faith’s stomach, so sudden and hot that her hands shake. “And you thought what comes next should be another chat with your ex-boyfriend?”

Buffy winces.

“He gonna chain me to a wall again?”

_“No,”_ Buffy says, looking stung. “I just thought it might help to talk to somebody who’s…”

“A killer?” Faith asks bitterly. She doesn’t even need to hear Buffy’s answer. “You think I’m like Angel? Some soulless monster?” She gets back to her feet, unconsciously pressing a hand to her stomach.

“No,” Buffy says, making no move to get off the couch. “Of course not.”

Faith’s hands feel clammy and cold, and she takes a step back from the couch.

“Faith,” Buffy says softly, pulling back the blanket and standing up. She doesn’t try to come closer, just looks at her in concern. “I don’t think that. You know I don’t think that. I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, don’t,” Faith says harshly. “I don’t need your help and I don’t need your vampire boyfriend’s help.” She can see on Buffy’s face that she’s taken aback by the level of vitriol in Faith’s tone.

“Why are you acting like this?” Buffy asks, sounding angry and hurt.

“When did you talk to Angel?” Faith demands.

Buffy shakes her head like she doesn’t know why that matters. “This morning, after Giles called.”

So the two of them have a disastrous night together, and the first thing Buffy does the next day is reach out to her ex. Fucking great. Like she doesn’t already have enough of a chip on her shoulder about it. “So you just talk to Angel now? You guys are friends?”

Confused, Buffy says, “We talk occasionally, not much. Why does that matter?”

“You could have mentioned it, if we were gonna—” Faith cuts herself off. “You know what, you’re right. It doesn’t matter.”

“I wasn’t keeping it a secret,” Buffy says, taking a step toward her.

“Yeah, you just didn’t mention it. I guess old habits die hard when it comes to Angel, huh, B?”

That stops Buffy mid step, and she blanches as though Faith physically smacked her. “That is _not_ fair.”

“No?”

“No,” Buffy repeats. “I’ve already told you I’m sorry for everything that happened with us before. You’re going to throw it in my face now?”

“How sorry can you be if you’re still doing it?” Faith asks. There’s a tiny, logical part of her brain that is telling her to calm down, take a deep breath, listen to what Buffy’s saying, but that part is being drowned out. Everything else in her is telling her to _go, leave, run,_ because Buffy didn’t tell her she was still in contact with Angel, and what else is she hiding?

“You want to talk about stuff we’re still doing?” Buffy asks, crossing her arms now. She’s moving past hurt and into just being pissed off. Faith knows the stages well. “How about running away, Faith? Seems like you’re still pretty good at that.”

Nodding tightly, Faith forces a sharp smile to her face. “Guess I am.” She turns on her heel and walks out of the living room.

XXXXX

Buffy stalks through Shady Hill cemetery, her feet silent on the grass. Faith walks a few yards away, equally silent, stake loose but ready in her grip. The vamp population seems to be lying a bit low for the past few days, and they’ve only come across three vamps all night. This is their last stop for the night, and that’s just as well. Buffy’s not sure how much more of the strained silence between them she can take. They’re not _not_ speaking, but the conversation from a few days ago obviously still rests heavily on both of their minds. Since then, Buffy’s gone out a few times, meeting Willow and Xander and going textbook shopping to get a head start on the books she needs for her next term (much to her mother’s confusion). Faith’s found things to do as well, meeting Giles for training, and going who knows where else. Buffy didn’t ask, and Faith didn’t volunteer the info.

When they’re around her mom, they both mostly fake like everything’s fine, and so far, she doesn’t think Joyce has caught on that anything’s amiss. Buffy’s thought about caving—she hates this tension between them. They’ve gone from seeing each other in one way or another nearly every day for weeks to this, and it really sucks. Buffy’s miserable, but more than that, she’s afraid that Faith’s going to decide staying here isn’t worth it and skip out. She’s afraid one of these days, she’s going to wake up to find Faith’s room cleared out and her key on the table.

At the same time, she’s still really upset with Faith. Buffy doesn’t think she really did anything wrong. Faith was the one who left her room in the middle of the night. She’s the one who overreacted about Angel, when all Buffy was trying to do was help. And she’s the one who once again walked out when they were talking, leaving them in this weird limbo place.

Seeing no signs of demonic activity afoot, Buffy sighs. She looks across at Faith. “Should we head home?” She asks. “It’s dead out here.”

Faith looks disappointed in the general lack of evil present in the cemetery, but she nods her agreement. Stashing her stake inside her sleeve, she cuts back toward Buffy, walking nearer to her as they retreat to the cemetery exit. She seems anxious, cracking her knuckles and spinning the ring she’s wearing around her finger while they walk. Buffy knows the feeling. She misses the comfortable feeling that had developed between the two of them, the way she sometimes felt like she could almost read Faith’s mind.

As they walk through the gate and turn right onto the sidewalk, in the direction of home, Faith says, “Buffy,” with such tightness in her voice that Buffy scans the street for signs of threat. She realizes nothing’s wrong, at least not anything demonic, when Faith reaches for her hand, bringing her to a stop. Dropping it once Buffy looks at her, Faith licks her lips and says, “I’m sorry.”

Buffy makes a valiant effort at still being angry, because it’s been three days and Faith expects she can just say _I’m sorry_ without any further elaboration, and that just fixes everything? But the stony façade she’s trying to maintain almost instantaneously crumbles.

“I’m sorry,” Faith says again, her face miserable. “I was a dick.”

Buffy waits for her to say more, but Faith’s just looking at her with wide eyes and a hangdog expression. “I didn’t tell Angel anything you wouldn’t want me to,” she says.

“I know,” Faith says. She looks down at her shoes. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” Buffy asks softly.

“Everything,” Faith says with a frown. “I never had anybody give a crap about me, except Diana, and I don’t know how to not fuck it up.”

“You didn’t fuck it up,” Buffy says. “We had an argument.”

“Not just that,” Faith says, her cheeks coloring slightly. “I shouldn’t have left your room.”

Swallowing, Buffy agrees, “That wasn’t great.”

“I know,” Faith says, nodding.

“So why did you leave?” Buffy prods, watching Faith’s face as she looks at the sidewalk.

It takes a minute for Faith to answer, her voice a little stilted. “Better than you leaving me instead.”

“And you think I’d want to?” Buffy asks. “Because things didn’t go like we were expecting?”

“You could have anyone, B,” Faith says, finally looking up from the sidewalk, to take in the view past Buffy’s shoulder. “Why waste your time with a fuck up like me?"

Buffy’s known, on some level, how disgusted Faith is with herself. That was obvious from her reaction to the memories she’d accidentally shown Buffy. And before Christmas, Faith had seemed hesitant about the two of them taking their relationship to a physical level, but Buffy assumed that was about _Buffy_ and her experience in the other dimension. She hadn’t considered that Faith might think _she_ was the problem. “I don’t want _anyone_ ,” Buffy says. “I want you. And you’re not a fuck up.”

Rolling her eyes, Faith says, “Pretty sure almost anyone else you picked could manage to fuck y—”

“Faith,” Buffy says, grimacing, “you really think I care about that?”

Faith shrugs uncomfortably.

“You do know that me and sex don’t usually go super well together, right?” Buffy asks, trying to lighten the mood slightly. “Angel went evil and tried to kill all of us after I slept with him. Then there was Parker. Not exactly the one night stand of my dreams.”

Finally flicking her eyes to Buffy’s, Faith asks, “And the other me?”

“That was the rare instance where my partner didn’t show any signs of evil immediately afterward,” Buffy admits. “So that’s a one out of three success rate.”

“Guess you’re one for four now,” Faith mutters.

“What I’m trying to say,” Buffy says, “is we can figure that part out.” She adds, “If you’re not ready, if you need more time, I get it. I can wait.”

“But why do you want to?” Faith asks, sounding upset. “That’s what I don’t get. You feel guilty about stabbing me, or you just need a slayer here to watch your back, I get that. But I’m not like Angel—taking you to French movies and reciting poetry to you or whatever. I didn’t even graduate high school. And I hurt you. I hurt your friends. I don’t even have a motel room to live in at this point. I have _nothing_ going for me,” Faith says bitterly. “And the one thing you thought I’d be good for, I wasn’t.”

“Are you talking about sex again?” Buffy asks, reaching for Faith’s waist. “I told you, I don’t care about that.”

Faith steps back, out of range of Buffy’s hands. “Well, I do.”

Buffy doesn’t pursue her, just looks at her for a second, watching Faith breathing a little too hard. “I’m not looking for poetry recitals,” she says. Does Faith really think there’s no reason Buffy would be interested in her except as a potentially good lay? The idea of that sits heavy in her chest. She tries to meet Faith’s eyes, but Faith won’t look at her. “Faith,” she says gently, “you’re brave. You’re willing to face your mistakes and try to be a better person. You’re smart, and you make me laugh, and you’re strong. Stronger than you should have to be.” She takes a small step forward. “You’re an amazing kisser, and the first time I met you, you broke a vamp’s nose with the back of your head. It was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” She risks a small smile, hoping to get one back from Faith. No dice. “You understand me,” she says, more seriously again, “like no one else ever will. I don’t want French movies or someone who thinks they can decide for me how my life should be. I want dancing, and slaying, and arguing with you about everything in the world.” She looks at Faith searchingly. “This just feels right, doesn’t it?”

Faith is still for a moment, and it looks like she almost forgets to breathe. Then she steps closer and reaches for Buffy’s hands, squeezing them when Buffy lets her take them. “Yeah,” she agrees softly, “this feels right.” Faith looks at her then, and in spite of everything Buffy’s just said, she still looks dejected. “I need to tell you something.”

The first tendril of worry starts in Buffy’s stomach. “Okay.”

Faith’s thumbs rub the back of Buffy’s hands. She licks her lips. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” she says.

Of all the things she could have said, Buffy was definitely not expecting this. Faith’s saying something else, but Buffy shakes her head, not hearing her. “What?” She asks.

Faith repeats herself, slower this time. “I need to think,” she says. “Figured LA’s as good a place as any. I called Angel, talked to him some. He said I could crash there.”

Pulling her hands away abruptly, Buffy takes a step back.

“I’m not saying I’m going to turn myself in,” Faith clarifies, “but I need to figure shit out.”

It feels like her whole body’s gone cold, her chest tight. “This is because of Christmas,” Buffy says, crossing her arms.

“It’s not.”

“Yeah, it is,” Buffy argues. “You’re leaving so I can’t leave you first. You just told me that.”

Shaking her head, Faith says, “That’s not it.” She doesn’t make any movement toward Buffy, but it looks like she wants to. She tries for a smile, comes up with a grimace instead. “I just need to get my head on straight, and I can’t think straight around you. Never could.”

If she’s trying to soften Buffy, it doesn’t work. “What about the appointment with the lawyer?”

“I talked to Giles,” Faith says. “He said we can reschedule, if I come back.”

The _if_ in that sentence makes the tightness in Buffy’s chest increase. It feels like her lungs aren’t taking in full breaths anymore. Faith’s watching her, her eyes large and worried, so Buffy turns and starts walking down the street.

She hears a sigh from behind her, but Faith doesn’t say anything to try to stop her. She just follows Buffy, a few steps behind. When Buffy reaches home, her feet like lead as she climbs the front porch steps, she finally turns back.

Faith stands on the bottom step, hand on the banister, looking up at her. The glow of the streetlight behind her casts her face in shadow, but slayer vision makes it easy to see her anyway. Her expression has a distinct ‘kicked puppy’ look to it. “When are you leaving?” Buffy asks.

“First thing in the morning,” Faith says. She puts her hand in her pocket, fidgeting awkwardly on the step. “Figured I’ll ask your mom to drop me off on her way to work.”

“Does she know?” Buffy asks.

“Not yet.”

Buffy thinks about the two of them in Faith’s motel room, the way she wanted to share in the blame for Allan Finch, and how badly Faith wanted to be forgiven. She wants to be angry. She wants to rail at Faith for even considering turning herself in, for needing to leave and think about her options. But the reality is: she can’t understand the position Faith finds herself in. And whether it’s really about that, or if it’s about what happened between them… she can keep trying to make Faith believe that she belongs here, but until Faith trusts that for herself, it’s not going to stick.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that she’s gotten to spend all this time with Faith. Gotten to know the way she kisses, the way her fingers feel in Buffy’s hair. Gotten to slay with her again, gotten to know the way their bodies feel spooned together in sleep. Gotten to see that shy, soft smile on her face when she opened up the necklace Buffy gave her. She’s gotten everything they should have had last year, if things hadn’t gone so wrong. And now she’s supposed to let it go, let _Faith_ go, maybe for good. Just one more thing that being the slayer is taking away from her, nevermind that being the slayer is the only reason she met Faith in the first place. It isn’t _fair_.

Coming up the rest of the stairs, Faith grasps Buffy’s sleeve lightly, not quite making contact with her arm. She hesitates, looking at Buffy as if afraid she might push her away, before she steps closer and hugs her.

Sniffling noisily, Buffy allows herself to be folded against Faith. Her arms slip around Faith’s waist, her hands against the rough denim of her jacket.

They stay like that a long time, Faith stroking her back gently. “I’m sorry,” she says against Buffy’s hair. Buffy nods before she pulls away, her eyes sore but dry. She unlocks the front door and goes inside.

At the top of the stairs, before she can turn toward her room, Faith grabs her waist from behind. She turns Buffy easily, kissing her before Buffy can protest or even fully catch her balance again. Then she’s gone, down the hallway into her own room, like she was never even there.

XXXXX

Buffy watches the sun set from her bed, still in last night’s pajamas. There’s a knock on her door, and she looks up as it opens a crack. Joyce pokes her head through, looking at Buffy in concern. “Can I come in?” She asks.

Buffy nods, but doesn’t bother sitting up.

Crossing the room, Joyce perches on the edge of her bed and puts her hand on Buffy’s back. “You going to come down? I’ll make some dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” Buffy says.

Her mother’s eyes widen. “Now I know it’s serious,” she teases.

“Funny,” Buffy deadpans. “You should be a comedian, Mom.”

“Stand up doesn’t pay the bills, alas,” Joyce says. She rubs Buffy’s back softly. “She’s going to be okay. She’s strong,” Joyce says, “like you.”

Buffy shrugs, her face showing a little of the anger she’s feeling.

“I know you didn’t want her to go,” Joyce says gently. “I know you’re trying to protect her. Your intentions are good, but honey, you can’t control this. You can’t make her decisions for her.”

“I’m not trying to _control_ her,” Buffy says defensively.

“No?” Joyce asks. “You just want her to do what you think is best for her?”

“It sounds bad when you say it like that,” Buffy says in a small voice.

Her mother gives her a soft smile and brings her hand up to smooth Buffy’s hair. “I think she’ll be back,” she says. “She just needs time and space to figure things out for herself.”

Buffy sniffs. “She could have done that here.” She catches the look on her mother’s face and asks, “What?”

Giving her a pointed look, Joyce says, “She doesn’t want to disappoint you. I don’t think you realize how much she wants your approval.”

Buffy thinks about that for a moment. Her approval? When has Faith ever wanted that? She made no secret of the fact that she thought Buffy was too uptight when she came to Sunnydale. Sure, things are different now. They’re finally acknowledging the feelings they have for each other. They’re leaving behind the mixed signals and defensiveness. But her approval? Does Faith really want that?

Patting her back again, Joyce says, “I’m making some spaghetti, if you change your mind.”

XXXXX

Buffy’s not really feeling up for leaving her house, or even her bed, but movie night was her idea, and she can’t bail now. Besides, movie nights with Willow and Xander have kind of fallen by the wayside over the last several months, with each of them focused on separate things. This one was her idea, planned right before Christmas, so she resolves to enjoy it. She parks the Jeep in Willow’s driveway and climbs out, forcing her face into something resembling a happy expression.

Willow beams at her when she swings open the door. “Buffy!” She greets.

“Hey, Will,” she says, stepping inside and unbuttoning her jacket.

“Did you remember the popcorn?” Xander yells from the living room.

“Like I’d forget it and face your wrath?” Buffy asks, leaning around the doorway to see him.

Xander sits amidst a nest of blankets on the couch, several packages of candy in his lap. He waves at her, and in spite of her mood, Buffy feels her face curling into a real smile.

“I’ll pop this,” Willow says, taking the shopping bag from Buffy’s hand. “You go sit.”

Buffy kicks her shoes off and heads for the couch, taking the middle spot and pulling blankets over her lap. She surveys the candy options. “No snow caps?” She asks in exaggerated horror.

Making an apologetic face, Xander says, “They were out! But I got you Reese’s Pieces.” He picks up the bag of candies and shakes it enticingly. “Eh? Almost as good?”

“I’ll live,” Buffy admits reluctantly. “What movie did you get?”

It’s Xander’s turn to pick. “ _The Mummy_ ,” he says excitedly.

“Hmm,” Buffy says, raising her eyebrows. “I thought all things mummy related were verboten in your presence.”

“Har, har,” Xander says, rolling his eyes. “It’s supposed to be good.”

She’d been holding out hope that Xander would be seized by an insatiable urge to rent _Never Been Kissed_ , but alas, rules are rules. It’s his turn, so _The Mummy_ it is.

Willow returns with a giant bowl of popcorn and gets into the remaining space on the couch, her crossed leg squishing companionably against Buffy’s. “Ready?” She asks, lifting the remote.

It turns out _The Mummy_ is actually pretty good. For two hours, Buffy’s engrossed in something other than wondering where Faith is, how Faith is, and whether she’ll be back. When the credits roll, the three of them are covered in discarded candy wrappers and in a mutual sugar coma. “Ugh,” Xander says, patting his stomach.

“Seconded,” Willow says.

Buffy smiles innocently when they both look at her. “Slayer constitution.”

The three of them gather up the mess and take it to the kitchen. Willow starts loading their used bowls and glasses into the sink, and Buffy and Xander lean against the counter, out of her way. “Where are the parental units tonight?” Buffy asks.

“Dad’s work is having a holiday party,” Willow says.

Xander moves over to take the dishes from Willow as she rinses them, putting them in the dishwasher for her. “Where’s Faith?” He asks, glancing at Buffy. “She’s not feeling the Scooby meet ups?”

“Oh,” Buffy says, surprised. “I kind of thought this was just an _us_ thing.”

He shrugs. “Sure, but I mean, if she’s going to stick around, we should probably start including her, right?”

Buffy looks down at the tile floor, blinking to keep her emotions in check. “I’m not sure she’s sticking around after all,” she admits.

Glancing over her shoulder in concern, Willow asks, “Why? What happened?”

“She’s thinking about turning herself in for everything,” Buffy says.

Willow turns off the water and turns around, drying her hands. She and Xander both look at Buffy, and she tries to keep on a brave face.

“And you don’t want her to,” Willow says, in a voice that sounds like she understands.

Shaking her head, Buffy says, “I thought maybe talking to Angel would help. Faith went to LA this morning. Said she needed to think.”

“I’m sorry, Buffy,” Willow says, coming to her side and touching her arm.

Xander takes longer to chime in. He asks in a quiet voice, “Is it the worst idea in the world? Her turning herself in?”

Shooting him a betrayed look, Buffy says, “She’s a slayer.”

“Yeah, but she’s also,” he lowers his voice, trying to soften it, “a murderer. I know you said she wants to make amends, but, Buff, she did kill someone.”

“Faith was self-destructing, and the Mayor saw that and used her,” Buffy retorts so passionately that he looks taken aback. “She doesn’t deserve to spend the rest of her life locked up.”

“I’m not saying she does,” Xander says, his face a little softer, “but if she thinks she does, isn’t it her decision?”

“Yes,” Buffy says, as if it physically pains her to admit it.

Willow gives her a worried look. “Are you okay?”

Shrugging, Buffy tries to downplay the fact that she wants to cry just talking about this.

Willow says, “I’m sure she’ll be back. Just give her a little time.”

Buffy nods, still looking at Xander. She can see almost the exact moment when the lightbulb goes off. His mouth hardens into a line and he says, “I’m gonna ask you something that I know is crazy, but I just need you to tell me that it’s crazy.” He puts his hand on the counter, as if grounding himself. “Are you and Faith…?”

Willow looks between them, eyes wide and concerned.

“Yes,” Buffy says simply.

The kitchen is silent for a long minute, then Xander laughs. It’s not his usual laugh. There’s no warmth in it. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says.

“Xander,” Willow says warningly, taking a small step in between them.

“So it wasn’t so much the ‘undead’ part of the ‘evil undead’ that turned you on with Angel,” Xander says in a hard voice.

Buffy flinches as if he slapped her. “Faith’s not evil, and that’s not fair.”

“I think the good professor would beg to differ,” Xander says.

“What about all the people Anya killed?” Buffy asks angrily. “They don’t count because she’s your ‘orgasm friend?’” She uses air quotes.

“Buffy, don’t,” Willow tries to intervene, but Xander and Buffy take no notice, each of them staring hard at the other.

“She was a demon when she did that,” Xander says defensively.

“She _chose_ to be a demon!”

“And Faith _chose_ to work for the Mayor!”

“Guys,” Willow says, waving her hand between the two of them. She squeezes Buffy’s arm, looking at her pointedly.

Buffy tells herself to take a deep breath and rein it in. Faith hurt Xander. It only makes sense that he’s going to take a harder line than Willow on the Faith topic. “Look,” she says. “I’m sorry. I get that Anya was a demon, and now she’s not. I’m not holding that against her. But, Xander, you put me on this impossible pedestal and you are _so_ harsh when I can’t live up to your expectations.”

“Dating someone who hasn’t tried to kill us is too high of an expectation?” Xander asks incredulously.

Squaring her shoulders, Buffy says, “You said you’d give Faith a chance.”

“Yeah,” Xander agrees, “I did. Faith’s not the one who’s lost her mind here.” He looks at Willow, his face reflecting hurt. “You knew about this?”

“Don’t drag her into this,” Buffy says.

“Whatever.” Xander shakes his head, pushes away from the counter, and starts out of the kitchen. “I gotta go.”

Following him, Willow implores, “Xander, come on. Don’t go.”

Alone in the kitchen, Buffy’s shoulders sag. What she said to Xander about the expectations he puts on her is true, but he’s still one of her best friends, and it hurts to see him so angry with her. The front door opens and closes, and then Willow is back in the kitchen, looking downtrodden. “Are you okay?” She asks, coming back to Buffy’s side.

Buffy nods, even though her eyes are watering.

“He’ll come around,” Willow says, wrapping her in a hug. “Just give him some time. And Faith will come back. She needs time, too. Lots of time for everybody. That’s what we need.” She squeezes Buffy, still holding her arms when she steps back to look at her. “You want me to beat ‘em up?”

“Xander?”

Willow nods, then holds her fists up. “Faith too. I’ll lay the smack down on both of them. Just say the word.”

Giving her a watery smile, Buffy says, “I don’t think we’re ready for the big guns yet. Let’s try the time thing first.”

“Okay,” Willow agrees, giving her a soft smile, “but you let me know if you change your mind.”

Sniffling, Buffy nods. “You’re kind of the best, you know?”

“I know,” Willow agrees. “You are, too.” She walks to the fridge, opens the freezer, and pulls out a carton of ice cream. “Now grab the spoons,” she says, “and come tell me everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me... :) Comments always welcome and appreciated!


	15. Chapter 15

_Sniffling, Buffy nods. “You’re kind of the best, you know?”_

_“I know,” Willow agrees. “You are, too.” She walks to the fridge, opens the freezer and pulls out a carton of ice cream. “Now grab the spoons,” she says, “and come tell me everything.”_

Chapter Fifteen

The sounds of quiet voices wake her, and for a moment, Faith thinks she’s back in her room in Sunnydale. The paisley sheets and exposed rafters dispel her of that notion quickly. This is Angel’s apartment, his bed that he insisted she take while he slept upstairs in his office. Faith pulls back the covers and swings her legs over the side of the bed. She rummages in her duffel bag, pulling on clean clothes and retrieving her toothbrush. In the bathroom, she looks at herself in the mirror. Still a little too thin, a little paler than she should be. Once her teeth are brushed, she puts on lipstick and mascara, instantly feeling a little better.

She starts to pack her things away in her bag neatly again, not wanting to make a mess of Angel’s weirdly immaculate apartment. The whole place is kind of creepy, not unlike the mansion he was living in in Sunnydale. Angel’s tastes tend toward dark and dreary. She’s not sure if that’s a vamp thing, or just an Angel thing. The dude has always been kind of a wet blanket, as far as she can tell. Kind of an odd match for someone like Buffy. But then again, so is Faith.

Her fingers brush cold metal, and she pulls out the necklace she got for Christmas. She runs a finger along the little links, then puts it back in the bag. The necklace is a reminder of Buffy, and she’s trying not to think about her right now.

Upstairs, she finds Cordelia rifling through a box of pastries. Angel sits across from her, sipping from a mug that says _Kiss Me, I’m Irish_. Angel had told her about Cordelia working for him, but she’s not expecting to find Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, of all people, coming through the front door to Angel’s office. “Faith,” Angel says, “morning.”

“Uh,” she says, still looking at Wesley, “morning.”

“Hello, Faith,” Wesley says, closing the door behind himself.

Faith checks the exits to the office in her peripheral vision. Cordelia will be easy enough to get past, Wesley too probably, but Angel’s a problem. Still, he can’t go into direct sunlight, so if she goes left, toward the windows, she might be able to get past quickly.

“Wesley works with us now,” Angel says, clearly reading the new tension in her body.

“The council fired him,” Cordelia adds helpfully. “He’s a ‘rogue demon hunter’ now.”

As Wesley’s cheeks turn bright red, Faith relaxes slightly. “Right,” she says. “Hey.”

“I’m glad to see your condition has improved,” Wesley says, persevering through the obvious embarrassment as he removes his jacket.

“You mean the coma or the evil doing?” Faith asks, deciding it’s best to just shoot the elephant in the room or whatever.

The ghost of a grin appears on Angel’s mouth before he lifts his mug to cover it.

Wesley coughs. “Well, both.”

Nodding, Faith takes the seat beside Angel and reaches for a danish. “I like the new look,” she says, gesturing with her danish to the leather jacket Wesley’s hanging up. “It’s real butch.”

This time Angel’s mid sip and he chokes a little.

Smiling beatifically, Faith sinks her teeth into the cheese danish.

XXXXX

She’s not sure what she was expecting when she decided to come to LA. Maybe that it’d be more like going to confession. Like she and Angel would sit in the dark, and she’d tell him all her sins, and he’d let her know whether ten Hail Marys would do it, or whether 25 to life sounded more reasonable. As it is, Angel doesn’t seem to have much of a plan beyond teaching her tai chi and having her tag along with him on his cases. That works for the first week. It leaves her plenty of time to be with her own thoughts. Somehow, that doesn’t magically point her in the right direction. She just spends this time wrestling with herself.

Turns out that being away from Buffy might be good for thinking, but it also leads to missing her. She resolved not to think about Buffy as soon as she boarded the bus back in Sunnydale, and that resolution lasted about one day. Since then, she’s done little else. Help Angel with a case, think about Buffy. Stake a vamp, think about slaying with Buffy. Go to sleep, think about the empty space next to her and how much easier it would be to fall asleep with Buffy in that space.

It’s Wednesday evening, week two, when Angel suggests she accompany him to pick up a new filing cabinet to replace the one she’d thrown a Serparvo demon through the day before. Apparently the only way to kill them is by drowning, but Wesley didn’t shout that information until after the filing cabinet was kaput, leaving Angel to drag the thing downstairs to the sink. Faith gets to her feet and puts her empty dinner plate in the sink, ready to go to Staples or whatever, when she suddenly snaps. “No.”

“No?” Angel asks, surprised.

“No!” She repeats. “I thought you were gonna help me with this atonement crap.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Instead I’m like your intern,” she says, annoyed. “All the investigating, none of the paycheck.”

Angel crosses his arms, a smug look on his face. It makes Faith want to punch him, but she refrains. “Okay, so let’s talk atonement then,” he says, waiting expectantly for her to take the lead.

“Me?” Faith asks after a moment. “You’re the one with like a hundred years of experience at this.”

Coming back to the table, Angel sits down. He gestures for Faith to follow suit. “There’s no handbook for this,” he says. “It’s not going to be easy. Just because you've decided to change doesn't mean that the world is ready for you to. And the truth is, no matter how much you suffer, no matter how many good deeds you do to try to make up for the past, you may never balance out the cosmic scale.”

Faith takes the seat across from him. “Giles beat you to this part of the spiel,” she says.

Angel shrugs. “So, what can I tell you that you don’t already know then?”

“Tell me what I’m supposed to do next,” Faith says. His face is blank again. She has no idea what he’s thinking, and that bothers her.

“What do _you_ think you should do?”

“I think I should be locked up,” Faith answers honestly. “I deserve that.”

“Sure,” Angel agrees readily. “You do. So do I.”

“But here you are,” Faith points out.

“That’s how I live with myself,” Angel says. “All the pain, all the suffering I caused… I feel it. I deal with it. And I try to stop someone else from feeling it.”

“And does it help?” Faith asks.

“Me?”

“Yeah,” Faith says. “Does it help you feel less like shit?”

“Not exactly,” Angel says, “but that’s not why I do it.”

“But what if I’m…”

“What?”

“Happy?” Faith supplies uncertainly. “If I don’t turn myself in, just go back to Sunnydale and live with Buffy’s mom, keep slaying like none of this ever happened, and I’m happy there? That doesn’t seem right.”

Thinking about that, Angel stands up and goes to the fridge. He pulls out a quart of blood and pours himself a mug before he pops it in the microwave. “Do you think I’m never happy?” He asks as the microwave starts to heat the mug.

“Uh,” Faith says awkwardly, “well, I know you were that one time—”

“Other than that,” Angel cuts in.

“I don’t know,” Faith says, turning in her chair to see him better. “Are you?”

“Sometimes, yes,” Angel says. “When Cordelia says something so crazy that I have to laugh, or I go to a museum, or we close a really hard case. I smile. I have people I care about, who care about me. I’m here for a reason. I have a purpose, and I can’t fulfill that purpose if I don’t live in the world.” The microwave dings, and Angel gingerly removes the mug, coming back to the table. “You have people that care about you, too. And that’s a good thing.”

“I don’t know about that,” Faith says dryly.

Angel takes a sip from the mug. “Since you’ve been there, Giles has called once, and Joyce Summers called twice to check on you. Believe me, neither of them has ever called here before.”

Surprised, Faith says, “You didn’t tell me they called.” She can’t help but notice who apparently hasn’t called.

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured to go back, if that’s not what you want.”

Faith looks down at the table, thinking about that. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Angel sipping from his mug.

When he’s finished, Angel says, “Faith, you messed up. It’s gonna hurt. It’s _supposed_ to hurt, but if you think the only path to redemption is to cut yourself off from anything that might make you happy, I don’t think that’s going to work.” He looks at her searchingly. “If you don’t want to go back to Sunnydale, you’re welcome to stay here. We could use you.” He smiles. “With a real paycheck. Not on an intern basis.”

“You’re just saying that because Wesley has the combat skills of Jacques Clouseau, and you need someone else to babysit him.”

Angel looks at her blankly.

“Right,” Faith says. “Forgot who I was talking to. He’s a detective in the Pink Panther movies. There’s like ten of them.”

“I see movies,” Angel says defensively. “I just saw one the other… uh, last year.”

Faith mostly succeeds at keeping the smirk from her face, then looks at him seriously. “You really think that’s the right call? Not turning myself in?”

Taking a deep, unnecessary breath, Angel looks at her. “We’re not like other people,” he says. “Someone else, maybe prison would be better. But we have power that we can use to help people. Seems like a shame to waste it.”

“That’s what B said,” Faith admits.

He tenses momentarily at the mention of Buffy, then nods.

“Sorry,” Faith says with a wince. “I didn’t mean to bring her up.”

“It’s okay,” Angel says. “You and Buffy… you’re getting along?”

“Yeah,” Faith says simply, not wanting to elaborate further to Buffy’s ex boyfriend.

“That’s good,” Angel says quietly. “I know you might not think so, but she really wanted to help you.”

“She loves a lost cause,” Faith mutters, looking away.

Angel’s laugh surprises her. “She does,” he admits, smiling slightly. “But I don’t think you’re a lost cause.”

“I don’t think you are either,” Faith admits. “And uh, listen, I owe you an apology… for the trying to steal your soul thing. And trying to kill you. So I guess a couple apologies.”

Angel shakes his head and reaches across the table, putting one big hand over both of hers. “It’s already behind us,” he says, “but thank you, Faith.”

“Yeah,” she says gruffly, retracting her hands. “Should we go get the filing cabinet?”

XXXXX

Faith finds herself on the street, barefoot, wearing the sweatpants and t-shirt she’d fallen asleep in. She’s in Sunnydale, looking up at her old apartment building. This is a new one. She’s rarely dreamed herself back to this apartment, and never from outside like this. She looks around the empty street, as if there might be a clue what she’s doing here. The sun shines brightly overhead, making the already warm day even warmer. It appears to be midday, but there’s no one walking around or driving past. Whatever she’s supposed to be doing here, it must be inside.

Sighing, Faith walks up the stairs to the front entrance. She pulls the door open, stepping into the air-conditioned foyer. Not waiting for the elevator, she takes the stairwell up three flights, exiting onto her floor. Her apartment is the corner unit, closest to the stairs. The door is open just a crack, and Faith can hear movement from the other side.

She pushes the door open slowly, keeping her eyes peeled for whoever is inside. The apartment itself looks just like it did on the last day she was really here, down to the broken window. Seeing no one inside the apartment itself, Faith heads in that direction, mindful of her bare feet as she gets close to the glass still littering the floor. When she gets to the frame, she looks down at the roof below.

A small figure sits against the wall, her arms folded around herself, knees pulled up to her chest. Faith’s knife sits beside her on the roof, glinting in the bright sun. Dried blood coats the blade. The sight of it makes Faith’s heart beat faster, but she squeezes her hands into fists and wills herself to pull it together. This is obviously not her head. And she can see the knife right in front of her. It’s not lying in wait to slide into her gut at some unsuspecting moment.

Picking her way over the windowsill, Faith chooses a clear looking spot and drops onto the roof. Buffy doesn’t look up as Faith approaches. She’s curled around herself, her hands so tight on her legs that her knuckles are white. Tear tracks line her face, her eyes wide and dazed.

Faith squats beside her, trying unsuccessfully to make eye contact. “B,” she prompts gently, touching Buffy’s hand where it’s wrapped around her knee. “What’s up?”

“Human weakness,” Buffy says, her voice sounding strained. “That’s what you told me.”

Confused, Faith waits for her to elaborate. When Buffy doesn’t, she says, “I don’t understand.”

“The knife,” Buffy says, not making any move to look at or touch the knife still sitting on the ground. “I’m going to take it with me. Shove it right in the Mayor’s face and tell him what I did with it. So he’ll chase me.”

Faith hasn’t asked for details on how Buffy defeated the boss, and hearing about it now, she wishes she were still in the dark. The Mayor was evil. She knows that. But he also showed her kindness when no one else did. She knows that too, and it’s hard to think about the man who took her mini golfing and nagged her to drink milk and get a good night’s sleep as pure evil. It’s hard to think about how she gave Buffy the key to hurt him, and now she knows exactly how it played out. It was a smart plan, and on the whole, she’s glad Buffy’s the one who came out standing, but _fuck_ , that’s brutal.

“I killed you,” Buffy says, still staring at the edge of the roof, just about where Faith fell off.

Peeling Buffy’s hand from around her knee, Faith takes it in both of hers, squeezing. Buffy’s skin is cool and clammy. “You didn’t,” Faith says.

Buffy doesn’t seem to hear her. “I thought it would be like slaying,” she says, “but the way it felt when the knife went in… that wasn’t slaying.” She blinks, her eyes filling with tears again.

She can still remember how the blade of her knife felt sliding into the Professor, so Faith understands exactly what Buffy means. “I know,” she says, squeezing Buffy’s hand again.

“How could I do that?” Buffy asks, seemingly to herself. She doesn’t react to the pressure of Faith’s hand on hers.

Frowning, Faith slides one hand to Buffy’s wrist. Her pulse flutters too quickly. “Buffy,” she says a little more insistently. Faith gets on her knees and moves her hands to Buffy’s shoulders, blocking her view of the place where Faith went off the roof. “Look at me. You didn’t kill me. I’m right here.”

Buffy blinks, managing to focus on Faith. A confused expression falls over her face. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she says. “You’re in a coma.”

“Not anymore,” Faith says gently. “Remember?”

It takes a minute before it seems to click in Buffy’s mind, and then she says, “Oh,” and looks around at the roof. “What are you doing here?”

“Dunno,” Faith says. “I went to bed and figured I’d be in my own nightmares.”

“I’m sorry,” Buffy says, some color returning to her face. She brings her hands to her cheeks and scrubs at them. “I didn’t mean to bring you here.”

“It’s okay,” Faith says, loosening her hold on Buffy’s shoulders.

“No,” Buffy disagrees. “You shouldn’t have to see this place again.”

“B,” Faith says, “it’s okay. Really.” She inches aside, taking a seat beside Buffy, her back to the wall. “Is this real?” She asks. “I mean, was this what happened?”

Slowly uncurling her legs from in front of her chest, Buffy nods. “I came to get the knife, let myself come apart for a while, then I got up and went to graduation.”

“I didn’t know you felt like…” Faith trails off, trying to find the right words. “I mean, I know you apologized, but I didn’t figure you’d be up here spiraling out.”

“You thought I could do _that_ and it wouldn’t bother me?” Buffy asks, looking down at her feet.

She hadn’t really thought about how Buffy might have felt after stabbing her, being a little preoccupied by the coma, but the sick look on Buffy’s face is far too familiar. Faith reaches over, putting her hand on Buffy’s arm.

“You don’t have to do this,” Buffy says, sounding sad.

“Do what?”

“Be here, with me,” Buffy says, gesturing widely at the roof. “You should hate me.”

Has she ever hated Buffy? “Not gonna happen,” Faith says easily. “But you don’t have to do this either. Let’s get out of here.”

Reaching for the hand on her arm, Buffy puts hers atop it. The roof disappears.

The library looks as Faith remembers it last, with the couch sitting smack dab in the middle. They’re beside the table, Buffy holding her hand like her life depends on it. Faith looks at the two of them, herself barefoot and in sweats, Buffy in the outfit Faith couldn’t forget if she tried, all red and black leather. She gently detangles her hand. “You think you can, uh, dream yourself up some other clothes?” She suggests.

Looking down at herself, Buffy winces. “I’m sorry,” she says, taking a few steps away. She strips off her jacket as she goes.

“It’s okay,” Faith says.

“It’s not okay!” Buffy says, flinging the jacket off her hand and onto the floor. “Stop saying it’s okay! Nothing’s okay!” She stops at the edge of the counter, gripping it tightly with one hand. As Faith watches, the black leather pants become softer and lighter, until they’re gray lounge pants. Her shirt changes shape, sleeves shortening, sides loosening. Now it’s a t-shirt. Buffy’s hair grows several inches, until it’s as long as it was last time they saw each other. She touches the place on her neck that was bandaged a minute ago. It’s bare now. She doesn’t turn around.

Faith rests her butt on the edge of the table, watching her back.

Buffy’s fingers are still digging into the counter. “You don’t just forget something like that,” she says quietly. “You can’t.” Even from across the room, Faith can see the tension in her shoulders.

In the time since Buffy first showed up in her dreams, she’s become a constant in Faith’s life. Almost every time something shitty happens, inside her head or out of it, Buffy’s there. She’s been helping Faith fight her battles, literal and metaphorical, and patching up her wounds. Faith’s drawn a line in her head, stabby Buffy on one side, real Buffy on the other. Real Buffy is warm. She’s safe. The part Faith doesn’t think much about is that it was the very real Buffy who first stabbed her and put her out of commission. She tends to lump that in with the stabby Buffy of her nightmares, and all of it sits on the _not real_ side of the line.

But that night on the roof was real, and for the first time in a long time, she makes herself think about that. Buffy’s silent entry into her apartment, only the itching in Faith’s neck letting her know that she was even there. The cold look on Buffy’s face, the power in her fists once she stopped taking it easy, stronger than Faith had even suspected. Buffy finally cutting loose, letting out the animal Faith knew had to be inside. She hadn’t believed Buffy would really do it, up until she felt the point of her own knife tear through her skin. The pain was nothing compared to the shock or the feeling of betrayal. This final rejection from Buffy—the fact that Faith’s continued existence meant nothing to her anymore—that hit home.

It’s hard to reconcile that Buffy with this one when they’re standing in this imaginary room that Buffy created for the sole purpose of protecting Faith from herself. She’d rather put that out of her mind and only think about who Buffy is to her now, but she can’t do that. She can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen, any more than she can pretend that she didn’t do her part to lead the two of them onto the roof. She thinks maybe Angel has it right—all the things you did, all the pain you caused—you have to feel it. Maybe that’s true for both of them.

Buffy hasn’t shied away from anything Faith’s done. If she needs Faith to walk through the ugly things she did with her, Faith can do that for her. “I didn’t forget,” Faith says, quietly. “Doesn’t mean I can’t forgive.” She stands up from the table and crosses the short distance to the counter. Stopping behind Buffy, she takes her elbow and gently turns her around so they’re facing each other.

Buffy’s head is bowed, and she looks up at Faith, her face drawn and tired. Buffy’s told her several times now that she’s sorry for everything. Faith thought it was clear that she forgives Buffy, but she also remembers how much she needed to hear Buffy actually say she forgave her. So Faith says, “I forgive you. For everything.”

Raising her head, Buffy looks at her with wide, damp eyes. When Faith gives her a tiny smile, she nods and steps in closer, pretty much plastering herself against Faith.

Not minding in the slightest, Faith wraps her arms around Buffy and squeezes hard enough to hurt the average human. With the way they left things, she wasn’t sure she’d get to do this again. She presses her face into Buffy’s hair, rubbing her back. Neither of them seems to want to move, so they stay like that for several long minutes, until Buffy lets go just enough to lift her lips to Faith’s.

It’s tentative, as though Buffy’s afraid Faith might push her away, and Faith’s immediate reaction is relief that Buffy still wants her. She brings her hands to Buffy’s hair, kissing her back softly.

The kiss ends too soon for Faith’s liking. Buffy looks at her again. “I miss you,” she says.

“I miss you, too,” Faith says, honestly. She misses Buffy like air.

The library shimmers for an instant, and Faith’s spidey sense start to tingle.

“What is it?” Buffy asks, looking around.

“Not sure,” Faith starts to say, then she’s sitting straight up, looking wildly around the dark basement apartment. The only light comes from a small nightlight in the kitchen, barely filtering into the bedroom, but Faith sees no sign of any intrusion. Something obviously woke her though, so she pushes the blankets off and silently climbs out of bed. Cocking her head, she strains to listen for any unusual noises upstairs. She doesn’t hear anything, but something is certainly making her skin crawl. She jogs across the apartment in bare feet, quiet as a church mouse, and takes a knife from the kitchen, heading up the stairs.

At the ground floor, Faith pokes her head free of the stairwell. The door to the inner office is closed, the earliest inkling of sunrise just beginning to come through the windows. Faith considers. Nothing seems amiss, but her instincts are all but screaming at her. Something’s wrong. She steps into the room, and goes right, toward the office, keeping her back to the wall. Her hand is relaxed around the knife’s handle.

She looks at the frosted windows of the office, but finds no change in the shadows behind them. She’s just about at the door when there’s a sudden thump behind it and a strangled cry.

Faith reaches the office door in less than a second, but the glass windows shatter outward before she can open it. She wheels and ducks against the door, glass shards hitting her back and slicing part of her arm. Angel groans from the ground in front of her. As she stands back up, something large comes through the window behind him. She assesses it as she darts toward it: humanoid, purple gray, long dark hair. The leathery clothing covering its body marks it as some kind of warrior.

It crouches over Angel, and he kicks it back toward Faith. The creature hasn’t seen her yet.

Faith stabs viciously into its back, managing a second swing before the thing backhands her. It goes for Angel again.

He’s on his feet now, and he ducks, ramming his shoulder into its stomach. Moving too fast, the creature can’t stop itself from flipping over his shoulder and landing on its back.

Faith’s there before it can get up, knife sinking into its chest this time. It croaks out a sound of pain, too long fingers grasping her wrist as if to push it away from its torso.

The demon goes slack before it can, small squinty eyes relaxing in its face.

“You okay?” Angel asks from behind her, fumbling toward the light switch.

Faith pulls the knife free and stands up, looking down at the demon. “Yeah,” she says.

The lights come on, and she glances away from the demon at the kitchen knife in her hand. Dark red blood shines along the blade, splashed up onto her hands and the light gray of her shirt.

“No,” she whispers, the knife falling from her grip and hitting the floor with a metallic clang.

_Warm blood coats her hand and all she can hear is the gurgling sound of Lester Worth’s mouth trying to form words as he stares at her, light leaving his eyes on the floor of his apartment and—_

“Faith,” Angel says, his hands firm on her shoulders, "hey.”

She shakes her head, still staring at the blood on her hands.

“Hey,” Angel says again, pulling her away from the demon and toward the table. “Hey, Faith, it’s okay.” He pushes her gently into one of the chairs. “Sit down. It’s okay.”

She realizes she’s shaking.

“Deep breaths,” Angel says, modeling what he wants her to do. He waits until Faith takes the first full breath in, then disappears a moment, coming back with a wet cloth. He takes one of her hands in his. “It’s okay,” he says again. “I know.” He wipes her hand clean, then turns the cloth over and does the other. Discarding the cloth, Angel crouches in front of her, looking at her in concern.

“I’m good,” Faith says, although she feels anything but.

“Are you sure?” Angel asks, still crouched below her eye level.

She shrugs, finally moving her gaze from her hands.

“Is that the first thing you’ve slayed since you woke up?” He asks gently.

“We’ve patrolled,” Faith says, “and there were demons on Christmas, but I didn’t…”

“You didn’t get blood on yourself,” he suggests.

Faith shakes her head.

“You had a flashback to something, when you saw the blood?” Angel asks.

“I guess,” Faith says after a second.

“Does that happen a lot?”

She shakes her head again.

Angel still looks concerned, but he gets up, sitting on the chair across from her and leaning forward.

Faith looks past him, to the dead demon lying on the floor in the middle of his office. “Cordelia’s going to be pissed when she sees the mess in here.”

A flicker of a smile passes Angel’s lips. “I know,” he agrees, before his face returns to worry. “I don’t think you should patrol alone for a little while,” he suggests, “just in case that keeps happening.”

He’s expecting her to argue, but she isn’t planning to. She’s already decided she won’t be alone. “I’m going back to Sunnydale,” she says.

Surprised, Angel sits up fully. “Oh,” he says, “are you sure?”

Nodding, Faith says, “I want to slay. I think that’s how I can do the most good now. And I think…” She hesitates a moment, remembering his face last time she brought Buffy up. “I think B needs me.”

This time Angel doesn’t blanch at the mention of Buffy. He looks at her evenly. “Maybe you need her, too,” he says, and Faith has to force herself to keep holding his gaze. After a moment, he seems to come to a decision, and Angel says, “I know deep down you always wanted her to accept you.”

Nervousness starts in her stomach.

“To love you, even,” Angel suggests, still giving her an all too calm look.

“Angel,” Faith protests, ready to deny it.

“She didn’t see it,” Angel cuts her off, “but I did. And I get it,” he hastens to assure her, not sounding angry at all. “Just remember, everything you’re doing… it’s not about Buffy. Whatever happens, however hard it gets, and it _will_ get hard, don’t forget why you started this.”

Faith doesn’t know what to say. Angel, of all people, knows about her feelings for Buffy, and he still invited her here. He still offered her a place in his team. He’s still looking at her with the same clear-eyed earnestness that she’s done little to deserve. “I won’t,” she says, swallowing when she hears her own voice sounding a little husky.

He smiles. “Think you could help me clean up the office before Cordy gets in?” He asks, giving them both an out from the emotional conversation.

“Guess I could help you out,” Faith agrees, as the office phone line starts ringing.

Angel frowns, obviously wondering who would be calling at this time of the morning. Faith stands up. “I’ll get it,” she says. “I got a feeling it’s for me.” She makes her way past an overturned chair and picks up the receiver. “Angel Investigations.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always welcome and appreciated. :)


	16. Chapter 16

_Angel frowns, obviously wondering who would be calling at this time of the morning. Faith stands up. “I’ll get it,” she says. “I got a feeling it’s for me.” She makes her way past an overturned chair and picks up the receiver. “Angel Investigations.”_

Chapter Sixteen

Faith sets her duffel bag down beside the door, turning back to face the office. Cordelia’s directing Wesley where to place each case file as she picks through the disheveled stack still waiting to be re-filed. Alphabetization is apparently not part of her filing system, and try as he might, Wesley’s not quite getting the hang of it. Angel’s bent over his desk, writing something down. It’s weird, how quickly she’s started to feel at ease here. Cordelia, she gets; Faith’s always preferred someone who will talk shit to your face rather than your back. Wesley though… if you’d asked her what she thought of him before this, she’d have said he was a prick. Stuffy. Always walking around like he had a big stake rammed up his English Channel. She wouldn’t have pictured him ever dressed down, throwing himself at a demon several feet bigger than him, or even cracking a joke. She’s seen all that while she’s been here though. So maybe people really can change, when you stop expecting the worst of them.

Kind of like Angel. When she’s not seeing him as Buffy’s boytoy, he’s actually not too bad. Still kind of a wet noodle, but she’ll give the guy some credit, he’s into this helping the hopeless thing, hook, line, and sinker. And he’s good at it. He didn’t sugar coat anything for her, but somehow he’s still made her feel like maybe she’s going to be okay. Like maybe she really can clear the red in her ledger.

As if sensing her thoughts, Angel finishes what he was doing and straightens up, a folded piece of paper in his hand. He starts out of the office and toward her. “You all set?” He asks, stopping a few feet from her.

“Yeah,” Faith says, nudging her duffel with her foot.

“Somebody gonna meet you on the other end?”

“Nah,” Faith says, “I’ll be fine.”

Angel nods. He holds out the paper in his hand for her to take. It’s a check, made out to cash.

“What’s this for?” Faith asks, surprised.

“Your internship,” Angel says lightly.

“Angel’s got jokes,” Faith deadpans.

“He does that sometimes,” Cordelia says, having abandoned the filing temporarily. “It’s weird, right?”

“Little bit,” Faith agrees. She pockets the check, nodding at Angel. “Thanks.” She’s not great with goodbyes, having had no real reason to go through a big production for most of her life, and Faith fidgets a little. “You still good to drop me off at the bus station?” She asks Angel.

He starts to nod, but Wesley interjects, “Actually I thought I might drop Faith off. I have an errand to run in the area anyway.” His face gives nothing away.

Looking at Faith, Angel waits until she reluctantly nods before he agrees.

As Wesley retrieves the car keys, Angel holds out a hand. “Job offer’s good any time,” he reminds her.

“As long as it’s not for office manager,” Cordelia adds.

“Got it,” Faith agrees. She looks at the two of them. “Thanks.”

“Take care of yourself,” Angel says.

“I will,” Faith says. “You too.”

Appearing beside Angel with the car keys in hand, Wesley asks, “Ready, Faith?”

Faith figures that Wesley’s got something he wants to say to her, but she can’t imagine what. The ride to the bus station isn’t that long. They spend most of it in silence, until Wesley finally says, “Faith, before you go, I thought I should say something.”

Ah, there it is. Faith looks over at him expectantly.

Wesley turns on his blinker, preparing to change lanes. He glances at her after he successfully moves right. “I owe you an apology.”

Blinking, Faith manages to ask, “For what?” She wasn’t expecting that.

“I failed you,” Wesley says matter-of-factly. “I was out of my depth, and I suspect if Giles had been your Watcher, you’d have fared much better.”

“Oh,” Faith says, taken aback.

“I know that I have no right to ask for your forgiveness,” Wesley adds, as the bus station appears in front of them, “and I won’t. But I just want you to know that I am truly sorry, and that I’ll do my best to balance the scales. Same as you and Angel.”

“Wes,” Faith says awkwardly, “I don’t want to diminish what you’re saying here, because I appreciate it, really I do. But you probably couldn’t have changed anything.”

Wesley noses the car into the line entering the bus station. As they slow to a crawl, he looks over at Faith. “If I’d been a better watcher, you’d have come to me after the Deputy Mayor.”

“I wouldn’t have,” Faith assures him gently, although for all she knows, maybe that’s true. Buffy had trusted Giles enough to want to tell him, after all. Maybe she could have trusted Wesley. But trust has never been one of her strong suits.

“Don’t excuse me,” Wesley says in a quiet voice.

“Okay,” Faith agrees, seeing she’s on the losing end of this. “Well, like I said, I appreciate it.”

He nods.

Wesley wasn’t really on her list of people to make amends with, but she feels strangely relieved by this conversation. As they make the turn into the station, she says, “If we need a hand next apocalypse…”

“I’ll be there,” Wesley agrees readily. “Count on me. Demon hunters like us have to stick together.”

Faith manages to keep a straight face. “Yeah,” she says, “and if you need a hand with the uh, demon hunting, I’m your girl.”

They slide to a stop in a short-term parking spot. Wesley puts the car in Park and turns to look at her. “Thank you, Faith.” He gives her one of his unintentionally goofy looking smiles. Reaching over the console, he pats the top of her hand awkwardly. “You’ll keep in touch with us?”

“You got it,” Faith agrees. “Take care of yourself, Wes.”

“You as well.”

She smiles, then climbs out of the car, retrieving her duffel from the backseat. With a final wave, she slings her bag over her shoulder and heads for the terminal. Faith gets in line, eyes searching for the destination she wants on the board. At the counter, she says, “One ticket for the 6:02 to Sunnydale.”

XXXXX

The walk from the bus station is long, but Faith doesn’t mind. It’s better than asking anyone to pick her up. She doesn’t want to inconvenience Joyce or Giles, especially because she’s getting in late. It’s a little after 9PM when she steps off the bus, her light duffel slung over her shoulder. By the time she turns onto Revello Drive, it’s nearing 10PM. A light is on in the living room of the Summers house, and Faith stands on the sidewalk for a moment, looking at the house. It’s been almost three weeks since she left, and she feels in her pocket for the house key that she’s barely gotten any use of yet. Will they be upset that she left in the first place? Will they still want her to stay?

Faith pulls the key free of her pocket and walks slowly up to the house, pausing on the porch. Her key turns the deadbolt easily, and she slips in the front door, closing and locking it behind herself. She sets her duffel down and unbuttons her jacket. “Buffy?” Joyce calls from the living room. “Is that you?”

Slipping her jacket off, Faith hangs it, then steps into the doorway. “Not Buffy,” she says, with a tentative smile.

“Faith!” Joyce exclaims, throwing off the blanket she’s curled under.

“Don’t get up,” Faith says, coming into the room.

“Of course I’m getting up,” Joyce says. The TV continues playing unnoticed in the background as she stands and crosses the room. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” She asks. “I would have picked you up!”

Shrugging, Faith says, “It’s not that long of a walk.”

Joyce shakes her head in consternation, reaching out to hug her. Faith leans in, lets her head rest on Joyce’s shoulder for a second, and then pulls away.

“How are you?” Joyce asks, her hands lingering on Faith’s shoulders as she looks her over.

“I’m good,” Faith assures her.

Joyce looks like she doesn’t quite believe it. “Are you hungry?”

Faith ate dinner before she caught her bus but she’s never not hungry. She nods and lets Joyce lead the way to the kitchen. Joyce pulls out containers of leftovers and begins making a large plate up for Faith. “So,” she says, once she’s placed it in the microwave and started the timer, “you did some thinking in LA.”

Surprised, Faith nods.

“And Angel… he was helpful to you?”

Something in Joyce’s voice lets her know that there’s little love lost between Angel and Joyce, and that instantly makes Joyce rise even further in Faith’s esteem. At least she won’t have to compete for Joyce’s approval, if this thing with her and Buffy goes anywhere. Faith nods.

“Have you made a decision?” Joyce asks.

“Uh,” Faith says, “yeah. I think, if it’s okay with you, I’m gonna stay. Help B with the slaying stuff, try to be a good little slayer, you know.” She takes a seat at the counter.

“It’s more than okay with me,” Joyce says, reaching across the counter to squeeze her hand briefly. “I’m glad to have you.”

“Thanks,” Faith says, her face a little warm.

The microwave beeps and Joyce lets go of her hand, moving to retrieve the plate of food. As she takes it down and opens a drawer to get silverware for Faith, Faith adds, “I’ll get a job, pay you rent.”

Setting the plate and silverware in front of Faith, Joyce gives her a pointed look. “You’ll do no such thing.”

“Why not?” Faith asks, her mouth watering as she looks down at the pot roast and hot buttered roll in front of her.

“Because I said so,” Joyce says firmly. She pours two glasses of iced tea and slips into the stool beside Faith’s. “I invited you to stay. You’re family, not a tenant.”

The word makes Faith’s hand falter with the fork midway to her mouth.

Sipping from her glass, Joyce either doesn’t notice or pretends not to.

Faith takes her first bite of pot roast and chews it slowly, running the word _family_ over in her mind. Families are something other people have. People like Willow and Buffy, not people like her. The word makes her think of people on TV. Like she’s walked into a very special episode of _7 th Heaven_, with herself playing the street urchin the Rev tries to help this week. She takes a quick glance around the kitchen and there doesn’t seem to be any sign of towheaded children or bright-eyed terriers about to come out of the woodwork, so she figures this must be for real. “At least let me get groceries,” Faith offers, not quite making eye contact.

“We’ll talk about it,” Joyce agrees, hiding a smile behind her glass.

XXXXX

By the time Faith heads out, it’s nearing midnight. She’s stuffed full of pot roast and dressed for patrol. According to Joyce, Buffy’s back at the dorms, with classes having resumed this week. At this time of night though, she’s more likely find Buffy on patrol, so that’s where she starts. Faith hits six cemeteries, finding no sign of Buffy and little of anything else. Four vamps meet the business end of her stake before she arrives at the UC Sunnydale campus. She knows Buffy’s room is in Stevenson Hall, but not which room exactly. At the front of the dorm, she sees a group of girls making their way up the stairs. She falls in behind them, stuffing her hand in her pocket and fishing around as though she’s looking for her keys. The last one through the door holds it for her, and Faith flashes her a smile, catching the door and heading inside.

There’s a security guard in the lobby, and a little machine checking IDs, so Faith breaks left, into a little vestibule full of mailboxes. She pretends to be checking for mail, waiting until the group is blocking the security guard’s view of her position, then slinks out and past the desk with him none the wiser. She skips the elevator, taking the stairs instead. Relying on the little buzzing feeling in her neck, Faith moves up the stairs, backtracking to enter the second floor once the feeling becomes a little less intense half way to the third floor. On the second level, she easily narrows the feeling down to Room 214.

The hallway is deserted, but she can see a dim light under the door. Faith knocks softly, rubbing her palms nervously on her jeans. Maybe she should have told Buffy she was coming.

The door opens partially, and a confused Buffy peers out. She sees Faith, her jaw practically falling open in surprise before she pulls the door open the rest of the way and launches herself into Faith’s arms.

Laughing, Faith catches her, squeezing her tightly. “Hi,” she says.

“You’re here,” Buffy says, against her shoulder. “You didn’t tell me you were coming!”

“Figured I’d surprise you,” Faith says.

Buffy’s wearing pajamas, warm from where she was cuddled up in bed. She smells sweet with just a hint of ash and salt, the way she usually does after patrol, and Faith presses her nose against her hair to get a little closer.

“You gonna invite me in?” Faith asks.

“Not if you can’t come in by yourself,” Buffy says automatically, although she must be able to hear the way Faith’s heart is pounding.

“I can,” Faith says, “just being polite.”

Buffy releases her, stepping back over the threshold and holding the door open.

Taking a dramatic step inside, Faith grins at her. She looks around the room as Buffy closes the door behind them. A small TV is playing late night reruns. The bed that appears to be Buffy’s is unmade, the cover light cream and pink, similar to what she has at home. The other bed is made up in darker greens and oranges, neatly made. Two dressers, desks, and nightstands round out the room decorated with assorted posters and framed photos. Faith gestures at the empty bed. “Where’s Red?”

“Tara’s, I think,” Buffy says. “She’s been staying there a lot.”

“Getting serious,” Faith says, taking a seat on Willow’s bed.

“Looks like it,” Buffy agrees, sitting down on her own bed so she’s facing Faith. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she says. Her eyes move over Faith as if she’s checking for any newly acquired injuries.

“Would have been here sooner, but your mom wanted to feed me.”

Buffy smiles. “That checks out.” She’s wearing baggy pajama pants, and a huge t-shirt, without a stitch of makeup, and all Faith wants to do is touch her. The beds are maybe three feet apart, but it’s three feet too many.

Faith resists the urge to move closer to her. She can’t just show up here and expect to pick up where they were weeks ago. She probably owes Buffy an explanation.

Before she can say anything, Buffy says, “I know I didn’t take it well, when you told me you were going. I didn’t really get it, and umm, I was just thinking about myself. Because I wanted you to stay.” She threads her fingers together in her lap, looking a little nervous. “So, I’m sorry. I should have supported you, whatever you wanted to do.”

Thinking about that for a moment, Faith says, “I liked that you wanted me to stay, though, you know?” She mostly manages to meet Buffy’s eyes, even though talking about feelings is definitely not her strong suit. “You wanting me around, that was good.”

“Are you going to stay?” Buffy asks, sounding like she’s trying to keep her voice neutral. “For good?”

Faith nods. “If you still want me here.”

Buffy’s nodding before she even opens her mouth to reply. “I do.”

That’s the first hurdle of this conversation down. Faith licks her lips nervously and tries to sound casual when she asks, “And, what you said before, about this feeling right… that still stand?” She meets Buffy’s eyes again, knowing her face is giving away how anxious she feels.

“Yeah,” Buffy says sincerely, “that still stands.” Her eyes are soft, her heart beating a little too quickly, and Faith feels herself releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “C’mere,” Buffy says, scooting fully onto her bed and leaving space for Faith.

She unlaces her boots before she gets up, kicking them off. Then Faith comes to Buffy’s bed, getting in next to her. She moves into the arm Buffy extends for her, putting her hand on Buffy’s hip as she gets settled. Buffy’s hand comes up to her neck, fingers combing into Faith’s hair. This is the most relaxed she’s felt in weeks, and Faith leans into her touch. “How was LA?” Buffy asks.

“Good,” Faith says. Then, “Wesley was there.”

Buffy’s brows go up in surprise. “Why?”

“Guess the council fired him, so he’s working for Angel now.”

“Huh,” Buffy says, sounding perplexed.

“He’s not such a bad dude, once you get him out of the suit and loafers.” She grins at Buffy’s questioning look and says, “Metaphorically. I didn’t get anybody out of anything while I was gone.”

“Oh,” Buffy says, “right. Good. I mean… good.” She hastens to add, “Me neither. No getting anyone out of anything. You’re the only one I want to, umm,” she pauses, flushing, “get out of things.”

The pinkness creeping up from under the collar of her shirt and spreading across her cheeks is ridiculously cute. “Good,” Faith echoes her, her hand squeezing Buffy’s hip.

Clearing her throat quickly, Buffy says, “It was weird, you not being here. I was already used to having you back.” Her thumb strokes the side of Faith’s neck.

“I grew on you, huh?” Faith teases.

“Like a fungus,” Buffy deadpans.

Faith thinks about that for a second. “I’ll take it,” she says and leans in to kiss Buffy.

Buffy seems to have been waiting for Faith to make the first move, because she responds enthusiastically. She pulls Faith against her harder, her hand tightening in Faith’s hair. Faith had thought it might be awkward after the way they left things, but they fall right back to where they were, both of them eagerly pressing together. Buffy licks Faith’s bottom lip lightly, and Faith responds, the tip of her tongue meeting Buffy’s.

Her hand slides onto the small of Buffy’s back, pulling their hips together. She forgets to feel nervous. All she can focus on is Buffy and how good it feels to be back with her. The softness of her mouth. The crush of her breasts against Faith’s, the scent of her hair and warmth of her body curled around Faith’s. Short nails scratch pleasantly against her scalp as Buffy winds her fingers a little tighter into Faith’s hair. Buffy’s knee comes up to Faith’s hip, foot tucking around the back of her thigh.

Faith smiles against Buffy’s mouth and says, “Buy a girl dinner first, B,” but she rolls her hips toward and grips Buffy’s thigh.

Buffy rocks her hips against Faith, waiting until her fingers dig into her thigh before she says, “Oh, sorry, you wanted me to buy you dinner first.” She starts to bring her leg off Faith’s hip.

Catching her knee, Faith pulls it back in place as she kisses Buffy again. Her hand moves onto the back of Buffy’s leg, sliding up her thigh until she palms Buffy’s ass.

Buffy’s fumbling with the bottom of her shirt, and Faith stops kissing her long enough to prop herself on one arm and wiggle out of it. While she’s up anyway, she tosses her bra after it for good measure. In the time since she’s been gone, the place where she pulled her IV line out has healed completely. The feeding tube insertion site has scarred, but it’s faded some. Thanks to Angel’s mother hen in the kitchen routine, she’s mostly back to her pre-coma weight. All in all, Faith’s feeling pretty solid about the way she looks now. And Buffy certainly seems to approve, if the way she’s checking Faith’s tits out is any indication. She gives Buffy a minute before she asks, “Did you just wanna look?”

“No,” Buffy says, snapping out of it. She reaches for Faith, but Faith catches her hand.

At Buffy’s questioning look, Faith says, “Take yours off.” Realizing that sounds a little gruff, she adds, “Please.”

One of Buffy’s eyebrows arches. “Since you asked so nicely,” she teases. Rolling onto her back, Buffy quickly divests herself of her nightshirt. There’s no bra underneath, and she rolls back over, pulling Faith to her so they’re chest to chest. Buffy beats Faith to the punch, squeezing one hand between them so she can touch her breast.

Faith shows her approval by scraping her nails down Buffy’s back lightly. When Buffy arches her back in response, her breasts press into Faith’s. She tweaks Faith’s nipple, rolling it lightly between two fingertips.

Faith’s hand tucks just under the elastic waist of Buffy’s pajama pants, and she pulls her closer, gasping against Buffy’s mouth. She’s already two steps ahead in her mind, anticipating how Buffy’s going to feel in her hand, warm and wet. Everything will be perfect this time. It has to be. She moves her mouth down Buffy’s neck, kissing and sucking as she goes, smiling as Buffy makes a soft noise.

Leaving her boob behind, Buffy’s hand moves to Faith’s hair. Her hips push against Faith’s, and she’s breathing harder, turning her head to make more space for Faith to kiss her neck. Faith’s going to make up for last time. She’ll make Buffy feel so good, and they’ll both forget that they ever had trouble getting this right.

“I think we should,” Buffy says, her words faltering as Faith bites her neck lightly, “we should take this slow.”

Faith pauses, leaning back to look at Buffy’s flushed face. “This is slow?” She asks, looking down at Buffy’s chest pressed against hers.

“It can be?” Buffy suggests. “I mean, we’re wearing pants.”

Faith’s hair falls in her eyes and she reaches up, tucking it behind her ear. “So you just don’t want to…” It’s on the tip of her tongue to say ‘fuck,’ but she knows Buffy doesn’t love when she talks about this like that, so she says, “uh, get pelvic?”

Buffy still winces. “Not tonight,” she says.

The sting of rejection hits her sharply. It’s not like she wants Buffy to do anything she’s not really up for, but she also knows that Buffy wanted to do this before. The fact that she wants to take it slow now makes Faith think this has to be about their disastrous first time together. She forces a nod, trying to look like she’s not bothered. “Whatever you want.”

“Hey,” Buffy says softly, her fingertips sweeping up and down Faith’s back. “I want you, like a ridiculous amount, you know that, right?”

“Sure,” Faith says, her face feeling hot and embarrassed.

“I do,” Buffy reiterates, squeezing Faith a little for emphasis. “I just don’t want to rush this again. This part is good too, right?”

There’s an internal war playing out in Faith’s head, with half of her wanting to push Buffy off her and leave, and the other half reminding her that she can’t keep doing that, not if she wants Buffy to keep wanting her. Buffy’s waiting, wide eyed and a little uncertain looking, for her to say something. Faith makes her decision. She leans in, kissing Buffy lightly. “Yeah,” she says, “this part is good, too.”

Buffy still looks unsure. “You’re disappointed,” she says.

“No,” Faith says immediately. The fact that they’re half naked having this conversation is uncomfortable. She’s not embarrassed about being naked or whatever, but at the same time, she’s not used to having someone just want to hold her and touch her and _not_ have it result in an orgasm. It’s strange, and it makes it even harder to say, “I just… want to make it up to you, I guess. Since last time was so shitty.”

“Was all of it shitty?” Buffy asks with a wince.

So apparently that was the wrong thing to say. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I thought most of it was good,” Buffy offers tentatively. “I liked touching you and being close to you.”

Faith’s lungs feel a little constricted at that, and she’s not entirely sure if it’s a good or a bad feeling. “I liked that, too,” she agrees softly. She rubs Buffy’s back lightly, trying to rephrase her thoughts in a way that sounds better. “I don’t want to be on the list of people that hurt you… you know, _after_.” 

Buffy brushes Faith’s hair off her neck, her thumb stroking Faith’s skin. “I don’t want to hurt you either,” she says. Her eyes are soft in the dark, and Faith can tell she means that.

She acknowledges what Buffy said with a little nod, not sure how to respond, then tries to change the subject with humor. “So this taking it slow thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Boob action is still gonna be on the table, right?”

Laughing, Buffy reaches between them and palms Faith’s chest. “Hmm,” she says, rubbing her thumb over Faith’s nipple, “yeah, I think that’s gonna work.”

Faith sucks in a breath as Buffy presses her nipple a little harder. “Okay, then I’m in.”

Buffy’s smile is enough to light up the dark room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! And it wasn't angsty! Comments always welcome and appreciated. :)


	17. Chapter 17

_“Boob action is still gonna be on the table, right?”_

_Laughing, Buffy reaches between them and palms Faith’s chest. “Hmm,” she says, rubbing her thumb over Faith’s nipple, “yeah, I think that’s gonna work.”_

_Faith sucks in a breath as Buffy presses her nipple a little harder. “Okay, then I’m in.”_

_Buffy’s smile is enough to light up the dark room._

Chapter Seventeen

Buffy’s half asleep, pleasantly cocooned between her covers and Faith’s sleeping form. Faith’s back is against Buffy’s chest, her arm over Buffy’s where it rests against her stomach. The slow and steady sound of her breathing lets Buffy know she’s still out. Snuggling in closer, Buffy wonders what exactly caused her to wake up already. They didn’t get much sleep the night before, not that Buffy’s at all complaining about that. Making out with Faith is definitely of the good. She plans on doing more of it, in fact, as soon as she gets a few more hours of sleep.

The sound of voices from the hallway wakes her the rest of the way up. It’s Willow and someone else—someone masculine. Faith’s eyes snap open at the sound of a key fitting into the lock on the door. Grasping the blanket, Buffy pulls it up higher just as the knob turns, and Willow opens the door a tiny bit. “Yeah,” she’s saying, “I’ll see if she’s here.”

The door opens further, and her eyes meet Willow’s across the room. Willow’s smile freezes on her face. Her eyes widen, moving from Buffy to Faith, their matching bedheads and bare shoulders peeking out from the blankets. In one fluid motion, Willow pitches her backpack through the door and starts to pull it closed. “Great idea, Buffy,” she says loudly as she’s closing it. “We’ll meet you at the Grotto once you’re done getting dressed. Riley, let’s go wait for Buffy at the Grotto.” The door closes all the way behind her.

“Oh, my God,” Buffy breathes, still clutching the blanket against her chest. She’s officially one of _those_ roommates. Poor Willow.

From beside her, Faith says, “I should go.” She sits up, still holding the blanket against her chest.

“What?” Buffy asks, looking at Faith’s back in surprise as she turns to get out of bed.

“You gotta go meet Red and GI Joe,” Faith says, facing away.

“So come with me,” Buffy suggests, reaching for her wrist.

Faith turns when Buffy tugs her arm lightly. “You and Red probably need to talk,” she says, not quite looking at Buffy. “You can tell her I had to crash here after patrol or something.”

Like _that_ would be believable. “I think the fact that there’s a second bed we didn’t use is gonna poke some holes in that story,” Buffy teases. Her thumb rubs the inside of Faith’s wrist lightly. “She already knows.”

That makes Faith look up. “You told her about,” she falters for a second, then finishes with, “me and you?”

Nodding, Buffy says, “Uh huh.”

“How’d that go?” Faith asks, looking uncertain.

“Fine,” Buffy assures her. “She wants me to be happy.” She slides closer across the bed, leaning in to kiss Faith’s shoulder lightly. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” she says, “but if you’re leaving because you think _I_ want you to, I don’t.”

Faith leans toward her, thinking about it. Buffy puts an arm around her, placing her hand on the opposite side of Faith’s stomach, away from the scar. Still, Faith tenses. Putting her hand over Buffy’s, she deliberately takes a few deep breaths before she relaxes again. Then she leans back into her hold. Releasing her wrist, Buffy gently brushes Faith’s hair away from her neck, moving her lips from her shoulder to the side of her throat.

Closing her eyes, Faith tilts her head to give Buffy better access. “You’re not making a convincing argument for why either of us should go for breakfast,” she says, her hand groping under the blanket for Buffy’s knee. She finds it and squeezes.

“Sorry,” Buffy says, not the least bit sincerely. Her lips are close to Faith’s ear. “You’re sitting in my bed naked though. It’s not really my fault.”

“I’m not naked,” Faith argues, eyes closed, not making any effort to move away from Buffy’s lips, which nudge at her earlobe now. She’s stopped holding the blanket against her chest, and it pools over her legs.

The jeans she showed up in lay discarded on the floor, Faith apparently having found them to be unsuitable sleepwear sometime overnight. Buffy runs her hand down Faith’s bare back, coming to a stop at the waistband of her underwear, the only clothing she’s still wearing. She toys with it for a second. “So just 98% then?”

“90%,” Faith counters. She shifts in Buffy’s arm, turning more toward her. “You really want me to go with you?”

“96%,” Buffy says. “Yeah, I do.”

Faith nods, looking a little unsure about what she’s hearing. “Okay,” she says.

“If you don’t want to, it’s fine,” Buffy says again.

“No,” Faith says, reaching for Buffy’s hand. When Buffy lets her take it, she rubs her thumb across the back of her hand softly. “I’ll go.”

XXXXX

The Grotto isn’t too busy, given that it’s only around 10AM on a Saturday. Buffy holds the door open for Faith, who somehow looks amazing even though she’s wearing last night’s clothes, hasn’t washed off her eye makeup from yesterday, and brushed her teeth with her finger. Buffy counted at least 8 appreciative glances at Faith on the five minute walk from her dorm to the Grotto. Buffy meanwhile, has a weird line in a section of her hair that she must have slept on wrong, didn’t have time to put on more than mascara and lip gloss, and is suddenly feeling self conscious about her boring outfit choice. _Stupid peasant top._

Faith waits for her to step inside, looking around the coffee shop for Willow and Riley. Outwardly, she looks calm, but Buffy can see the signs of nervousness in her body. Her shoulders are a little higher than normal, her jaw tight. Giving her a smile, Buffy reaches for her hand. “Need coffee,” she says, pulling her toward the back of the short line waiting to get to the counter. Surprise is obvious on Faith’s face, but she doesn’t take her hand back. She lets Buffy walk her to the line, then stands close to her side, their joined hands mostly hidden between them. 

“Breakfast is on me,” Buffy offers, squeezing her hand. “It looks like they only have about ten muffins left, so I should have enough in my account to cover you.”

Rolling her eyes, Faith says, “You can match me muffin for muffin and you know it.” She squeezes Buffy’s hand back.

“I’ll never admit to that,” Buffy says, as the line moves up a few paces. “There they are.” She waves at Willow, having spotted her and Riley at a table in the back corner. From the corner of her eye, she sees Faith tapping the fingers of her free hand against the leg of her dark jeans. “It’s gonna be fine,” she says, mostly under her breath, knowing Faith can hear her.

Faith nods, then they’re at the counter, ordering. Releasing Buffy’s hand, Faith takes their plates from the barista. Buffy leads the way to the table, carrying their drinks. As they come closer, Riley looks up. His eyes move down her body for a moment before he seems to catch himself, bringing his gaze back to her face. He smiles widely at her, then notices Faith behind her. He looks a little confused by Faith accompanying her, but he gamely musters up a polite smile.

“Hey, guys,” Willow greets. She and Riley are seated across from one another, and Buffy looks at the two open seats, trying to decide which one would make Faith less uncomfortable. Forced to make a quick decision, she takes the spot next to Riley, leaving the seat next to Willow for Faith.

“Morning!” Buffy greets brightly, waiting until Faith is seated to swap her coffee for Buffy’s blueberry muffin.

Faith echoes her greeting. Her smile, when pointed at Riley, somehow exudes aggression. She softens it slightly for Willow. “Hey.”

“What’s up?” Buffy asks the two of them in a cheerful voice, before taking a sip of her coffee. Maybe if she just keeps acting like this isn’t uncomfortable, it won’t be.

Riley’s eyes flick to Faith as though he’s not sure he should talk in front of her, but Buffy just looks at him expectantly. He clears his throat. “We got word there’s a group of Polgara demons in the area, but we haven’t been able to find them. I thought you might have some info.”

The name doesn’t sound familiar. “What do they look like?” Buffy asks.

“Kind of like big lizards,” Riley says. “They have spikes they can deploy from their arms. A little slimy.”

Buffy thinks. “We haven’t seen anything like that on patrol,” she says. She glances at Willow. “Have we?”

“Nope,” Willow confirms.

“Why are you looking for them?” Faith asks. There’s no real edge to her voice, but Riley looks uncomfortable anyway.

Buffy reaches across the table, taking half of Faith’s bagel.

“Above my pay grade,” Riley answers. “They tell me to go find a hostile, I go find it.”

“Hmm,” Faith says noncommittally. She takes the rest of Buffy’s muffin from her plate. “We’ll be sure to let you know if we slay them,” she offers, and Buffy thinks she detects a hint of emphasis on the ‘we.’ Faith brings the muffin to her mouth and takes a large bite.

Looking longingly toward the bakery case, Buffy says, “I’m gonna need another muffin.”

“I’m getting a refill anyway,” Willow says. “I’ll see what’s left.”

As she gets to her feet, Buffy says, “You’re an angel.”

“Don’t I know it?” Willow asks, squeezing past Faith.

As she walks away, Riley glances back at Buffy, frowning slightly. “Do me a favor and give me a heads up _before_ you slay them?”

Under the table, Buffy stretches out her foot and bumps Faith’s lightly. “I’ll try,” she says.

“Thanks,” Riley says. He fiddles with his empty coffee cup. “So, what do you have going on today?” He glances between the two slayers.

Faith looks surprised to be addressed. She shrugs. “I should probably put in an appearance before Mrs. S files a missing persons report on me.”

“You just got back to town this morning?” Riley asks.

“Last night,” Faith says. After a second, her eyes skip to Buffy.

Not sure if Riley’s putting the pieces together, Buffy just smiles. “I’ll go with you. I’m sure Mom misses me and my laundry.” She looks at Riley. “What about you?”

“Oh,” Riley says, “I gotta meet Forrest for some drills.” His expression says he knows he’s missing something but isn’t quite sure what. “But, if you’re not busy tonight we could get dinner or something?”

“Sure,” Buffy says. “I’ll let you know if I’m back early enough.”

“Great,” Riley says, smiling. “I better go.” He looks at Faith. “Nice to see you again.”

It looks like it physically pains her to be polite, but Faith says, “You too.”

He touches Buffy’s shoulder lightly as he maneuvers out of his chair and squeezes behind hers. “See you later.”

“See you,” Buffy agrees.

Faith’s eyes burn holes in Riley’s back as he walks away. “That guy doesn’t give up, does he?”

“Huh?” Buffy asks, already having forgotten about Riley, and looking back to the counter to see if Willow’s managed to acquire more food.

“Dinner tonight?” Faith says. “Putting his hands on you like that?”

Willow’s at the counter, and it looks like she’s going to succeed in scoring the last of the cappuccino chip muffins. “He didn’t ‘put his hands’ on me,” Buffy says, looking back at her. “He barely touched me.”

“He didn’t need to touch you at all,” Faith mutters darkly, slumping in her chair and twisting her coffee cup around in her fingers.

Buffy hides the slight smile on her face behind her cup, taking a sip.

“What?” Faith demands, having seen it anyway.

“Want me to tell him I’m spoken for?” Buffy offers lightly.

The wideness of Faith’s eyes is almost comical. “Uhh,” she starts.

“Relax,” Buffy says, as Willow starts walking back toward them. “I’m teasing you.”

“Oh,” Faith says.

Willow plops a plated muffin down in front of Buffy. “Where’d Riley go?” She asks, skirting Faith’s chair to get to her own.

“Meeting Forrest,” Buffy answers, already unwrapping the paper cup from her muffin. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Willow says. She raises a steaming cup to her lips, blowing into it quietly. The quiet is a little awkward between the three of them. Buffy feels a rush of affection for her best friend when Willow breaks the silence and says, “So, Faith, when did you get back?”

Sitting up straighter in her chair, Faith says, “Last night.” She glances at Willow. “Looks like I’m gonna stay in SunnyD a while.”

“That’s good,” Willow says, looking like she means it. “We should hang out. The four of us I mean. Me and Tara and you guys.”

Faith looks taken aback by that, looking to Buffy to answer.

“Uh, not like right now,” Willow clarifies, “if you wanted to be alone, I mean.” She stammers, slowly turning red. “I just need to get a couple things from the room, then I could—”

“Will,” Buffy says, reaching across the table and putting her hand on Willow’s. “We’re gonna go by my mom’s. The room’s all yours.”

“Oh,” Willow says. “Great!”

“And I’m sorry about uh, the show we gave you this morning.”

“I should have knocked,” Willow says immediately.

“It’s your room, too,” Buffy points out.

“Right,” Willow agrees.

Faith’s lip is twitching. Buffy kicks her lightly under the table, and Faith snags a large piece of her muffin, stuffing it in her mouth to disguise how funny she’s finding this.

“Let’s definitely hang out,” Buffy says, looking at Faith, who nods dutifully. “I want to get to know Tara better.”

Beaming, Willow nods enthusiastically. “Tonight?”

“Buffy’s got a hot dinner date,” Faith says dryly.

Off Willow’s confused look, Buffy says, “Riley wants to get dinner later.”

“Is he still…” Willow glances at Faith, unsure whether to continue.

“Trying to get in her pants?” Faith supplies helpfully.

The flush had been fading from Willow’s cheeks but it returns immediately. She shrugs as if to say Faith has a point.

“We’re just friends,” Buffy stresses. “He knows that.”

Faith snorts, reaching for another piece of muffin. Buffy moves the plate out of reach, picking up the piece herself. “He does,” she says again.

“Come on,” Faith protests. “You ate half my bagel.”

Relenting, Buffy pushes the plate back toward her, letting her take the last bit of muffin. The grin on Faith’s face is better than the last bite would have been anyway.

“How about tomorrow?” Buffy suggests.

“Works for me,” Willow says. “I’ll check with Tara.” She looks past Buffy, toward the clock by the counter. “Shoot, I’m gonna be late meeting my lab partner if I don’t go now.” She plucks her purse off the back of her chair. “See you later?” She asks.

Buffy nods. “Yeah.”

Willow picks up her coffee, waving goodbye to them both before she disappears toward the exit.

Looking at their empty plates, Buffy sighs. “Maybe Mom will be up for brunch. You ready?”

Draining the last of her coffee, Faith nods. They collect their trash and drop it in the garbage on their way out.

XXXXX

“Daughter of mine,” Joyce greets, as they come trudging up the front stairs, Buffy’s overstuffed laundry bag slung over Faith’s shoulder. “Nice to see you again.”

“Hi, Mom,” Buffy greets.

“Should I be offended that you’re only here to visit Faith?” Joyce asks, not looking up from the plants she’s watering.

Faith bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, as Buffy pouts. “That’s not true.”

Joyce stands up straight and looks over at the two of them. “Right,” she says. “I forgot about the laundry.”

“I’m also here in search of sustenance,” Buffy says with an angelic look on her face.

Rolling her eyes, Joyce puts down her watering can and comes to join the two of them, hugging her daughter. “We’re fresh out of sustenance,” she says. “I’ve got grocery shopping to do.”

“No sustenance?” Buffy asks in a mock horrified voice as they move inside.

“None,” Joyce affirms, “but I was just about to pick up a sandwich. Why don’t you put your laundry in, and we’ll all go?”

“Sure,” Buffy says.

Faith shrugs. “I never turn down food.”

As Buffy heads for the basement, Faith goes upstairs to change her clothes and freshen up. She didn’t even unpack her stuff when she got back last night, too eager to go find Buffy. Now, she carefully takes everything out of her bag before stashing the duffel in the closet. Dirty clothes, she tosses into the laundry basket next to her bed. After dressing, she puts the rest of her clean clothes back in the dresser. In the bathroom, she runs the tap over her hands, then pulls her fingers through her hair a few times, trying to bring a little more order to it. _Good enough_ , she decides.

The aforementioned sandwiches turn out to be humongous monstrosities capable of filling even a slayer’s belly. Faith polishes off her sausage and pepper sandwich, then steals some unfinished bread from Joyce’s plate to mop up the remaining sauce from hers. “This place is amazing,” she compliments, taking a bite.

“We found it when we first moved here,” Buffy says, savoring her last few bites.

“And it’s been in regular rotation ever since,” Joyce confirms. “It’s enough to fill Buffy, and I usually get two meals out of it.”

Faith looks sheepishly at the stolen bread in her hand. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Joyce waves her off. “I’m familiar with trying to keep a slayer fed.”

Across from her, Buffy rolls her eyes. Mother and daughter devolve into lighthearted bickering, and Faith zones out slightly, thinking about last night and this morning.

She’s felt drawn to Buffy since she first came here from Boston, Kakistos hot on her heels. No amount of telling herself not to think about Buffy has helped with that. Even unconscious she couldn’t stop. And now Buffy seems to feel it, too.

It’s not just the big things. Like shoving Faith out of the way of falling debris. Showing up in her room and giving impassioned speeches about trust. Breaking into Faith’s head. Buffy’s always been good at grand gestures. This is the girl who set her school on fire, after all. Twice.

It’s the smaller things that feel different. The way she always seems excited to see Faith. And she wants to hear Faith talk, about anything she feels like saying. And Buffy’s touching her more often than not when they’re together. Buffy’s taking her hand in the café, where anyone might see. And Faith not only doesn’t mind, but actually wants to let her. It’s been a long time since she wanted anyone to be close to her. And this isn’t just anyone, it’s the person who knows most about all the fucked up shit she did. But Buffy makes Faith feel like she’s actually _wanted_. Not for her power. Not because Faith’s gorgeous and easy enough to get into bed. Just because Buffy likes being with her—the _real_ her.

Faith’s never felt anything like that before.

She still can’t help but feel like she doesn’t really deserve it, but she wants it all the same. Admitting that to herself is enough to make her break into a cold sweat. The smarter thing to do would have been to stay in LA and make herself useful like Angel’s doing. Anything that feels as good as being with Buffy does hurts twice as much to lose, and Faith already knows too much about losing. But she’s back here anyway, because how do you let go of someone who makes you feel like that?

Under the table, Buffy’s booted foot bumps into hers. Faith looks over, finding a small, secretive smile on Buffy’s face. Across from her, Joyce is fishing in her purse for her wallet, oblivious. Faith shifts her foot so their ankles cross, pressing comfortably together.

“It’s nice to see you girls together again,” Joyce says, having found her wallet and pulled it free. She looks at Faith conspiratorially. “Buffy was moping around the house for most of her winter break after you left.”

“Mom,” Buffy protests, a blush creeping over her face. “I wasn’t moping.”

Joyce gives her an _are you kidding me_ look.

Faith thinks about taking pity on Buffy for about two seconds, then she grins. “Aww, B,” she says, leaning across the table and attempting to pinch Buffy’s cheek. Her hand is swatted away.

“Mom was doing a little moping of her own,” Buffy points out, glaring ineffectively back at Joyce.

Shrugging, Joyce says to Faith, “I did miss you.” She pats Faith’s hand then looks at Buffy. “It’s nice living with someone who remembers to turn the shower back to bath so ice cold water doesn’t spray me in the face in the morning.”

“Oh my God, it was _one_ time!”

Buffy’s face is so indignant that Faith can’t help but laugh at her.

“It was several times,” Joyce clarifies.

“I believe you, Mrs. S,” Faith says sweetly, earning herself a kick under the table. Buffy gives her a betrayed look.

After Joyce sets the necessary cash down for their bill, and they stand up to go, Faith slings her arm companionably around Buffy’s shoulder.

“Traitor,” Buffy complains with no real heat in her voice.

“Hey,” Faith says, “I gotta take her side. I know better than to bite the hand feeding me pot roast.”

“I’ll remember that,” Buffy says, as they follow her mother out of the restaurant.

Faith looks at Joyce leading the way across the parking lot, sees she’s not paying attention to the two of them, and presses a quick kiss to Buffy’s cheek. “I’ll make it up to you,” she says.

XXXXX

Reclining on Buffy’s bed, Faith watches as she folds her clean laundry and places it back in her bag. Buffy crams clothes in carefully, pushing her hair behind her ear when it falls in her face. After a minute, Faith plucks a magazine from Buffy’s bedside table and begins flipping through it. “You gonna meet Riley for dinner?” She asks, in a deliberately casual voice.

Looking over, Buffy tries to determine whether that upsets her, but Faith doesn’t look up from the pages. “Maybe,” she says. “We’re friends. Friends hang out.”

“Mhmm,” Faith agrees, flipping another page.

“Plus he’s our source into the Initiative,” Buffy points out. “That may come in handy.”

“Right,” Faith agrees.

Buffy waits for her to say something else, and when she doesn’t, she goes back to her task. She goes to her dresser, opening one drawer and then the next. She’s sure her brown pants are around here somewhere…

“B?” Faith asks. This time her voice is different, a little smaller. Faith’s looking at her, the magazine abandoned in her lap. “You could tell him you have somebody,” she says tentatively, “if you want.”

Buffy’s fingers squeeze convulsively around the drawer pull. She takes a deep breath, her heart feeling like it’s beating out of control. Abandoning her search, Buffy walks quickly to the bedroom door and closes it. Then she comes back to her bed and perches beside Faith, her hand on Faith’s leg. She knows that Faith thinks she’s good at disguising her feelings and acting like she’s the toughest badass around, but she’s actually really bad at it. Her mouth is down turned, eyebrows drawn together a little. Her nervousness is evident.

“ _Do_ I have somebody?” Buffy asks softly. She hasn’t really thought much about the prospect of them having the relationship talk. Until last night, she wasn’t even sure Faith was going to come back to town. Her joke at breakfast really was just a joke. But now that Faith’s brought it up, the idea sets down roots in her heart like it’s just been waiting to be spoken out loud.

Faith’s face is still anxious. “If you want,” she says again. “I’m not good at this and I’m probably going to screw it up, so I get it if you—”

She looks alarmed when Buffy suddenly gets up, but Buffy’s only putting her knee on the bed, straddling Faith’s lap. “I want,” she says, kissing her firmly. “I want you. Yes.” She catches sight of a shy smile before Faith is hugging her. Buffy wraps her arms around Faith’s shoulders and hugs her back. “You have me, too,” she says, in case that wasn’t clear.

She doesn’t say anything out loud to acknowledge that, but Faith squeezes her tightly for a second. Then her hands are in Buffy’s hair, and they’re kissing. Buffy’s absurdly happy, grinning against Faith’s mouth. Faith’s back and she’s staying and she wants them to be together. What else is there to do except smile so big it hurts her face and never stop kissing?

Faith’s beaming too. They gamely keep kissing another minute until they give up and sit there looking at each other. Faith’s eyes are soft, her mouth relaxing into a half smile so the tiniest hint of her dimples appear. She has this look that she gets sometimes, like she’s so damn surprised something worked out in her favor that she doesn’t know what to say about it. Buffy sort of suspects there aren’t a lot of people who’ve witnessed this look, but she has, and she both loves that she’s the one who gets to see it, and hates that she knows how rare it is.

She’s not naïve to the fact that Faith tries to erect walls around her heart. Sometimes more than walls. Depending how prickly she’s feeling, there might a moat or a dragon to get past before you can get scale those walls to find the real Faith. It takes work, but so does anything worth having. And Buffy’s a slayer; she’s faced worse than dragons. But sometimes, like now, Faith’s brave enough to lower a drawbridge and call off her dragons so Buffy can walk right in and see her.

Buffy sees that for the honor it is—to be the person Faith will lower her defenses for. She doesn’t say anything out loud that might ruin it. She lets that tender feeling sit in her chest and the back of her throat until it aches, and she tells herself that she’ll never give Faith a reason to be sorry for letting her in.

“What?” Faith asks, tipping Buffy off to the fact that she’s been staring at her a little too long.

“Just thinking,” Buffy says, sliding her fingers through Faith’s hair and touching the back of her neck lightly.

“Good thoughts?”

Buffy nods, then says, “I was thinking that I _guess_ I can forgive you for siding with my mom earlier.”

Surprised, Faith laughs. “Told you I’d make it up to you.” Her hands sit low on Buffy’s hips, comfortable, warm.

“That you did,” Buffy agrees.

“This about do it?”

Buffy pretends to think. “Almost,” she says.

Scoffing, Faith asks, “Almost? What are you looking for, a kidney?”

“I’ve already got two of those, but I’ll settle for more kissage, after patrol?”

“You were gonna get that anyway,” Faith points out. “Should have driven a harder bargain, B.”

“Good point,” Buffy says. “My negotiation skills could use some work. I’ll think of something else.”

“Nope,” Faith says, leaning and ducking her head so she can nip at Buffy’s neck. “Too late.”

Squirming in her lap, Buffy says, “No fair.”

Faith’s hands tighten on her hips as her teeth scrape along the side of Buffy’s neck. “What?” She asks. “This?”

Before Buffy can answer, her mother calls from downstairs. _“Faith? You ready to go?”_

Sighing her displeasure, Faith plants one final kiss against Buffy’s neck, then she leans back. “Be down in a second!” She calls, then looks at Buffy. “Duty calls,” she says, regretfully. “Promised your mom I’d go grocery shopping.”

“See,” Buffy says, “this is why you’ve replaced me as her favorite.” She kisses Faith again, then gets off her lap, standing back up.

Getting to her feet, Faith shakes out her hair and smoothes imaginary wrinkles out of her shirt. “See you tonight?” She asks, reaching for Buffy’s arm.

“Yeah,” Buffy says, smiling as Faith’s fingers stroke the inside of her wrist. “Can’t wait.”

XXXXX

Paging through a book carefully, Giles frowns. “And he didn’t say why they’re looking for these Polgara demons?”

“He said it was above his pay grade,” Buffy says, sitting cross-legged on the couch.

“Well,” Giles says, coming over to join her, “they should be easy enough to find.” He holds the book out to Buffy, then sits down beside her. “They feed every two hours or so.”

“Not exactly a low profile,” Buffy says, wrinkling her nose at the sketched demon.

“No,” Giles agrees. “Do you have any better sense of what the Initiative might be up to?”

Buffy shrugs. “I don’t exactly have an in here. I can’t ask them if I can just join up.”

“It may only be a matter of time before they invite you in,” Giles points out. “You said that they were quite keen to work with Faith in the other dimension?”

“Yeah,” Buffy agrees, “but that Sunnydale was a lot worse than ours. Maybe they figured there was strength in numbers.”

Considering that, Giles says, “I think all we can do is keep our eyes open for now, but be careful. I know Riley is your friend, and he helped liberate Faith from the council, but I don’t trust this Initiative.”

“Neither do I,” Buffy agrees. She closes the book and holds it out to Giles.

Accepting it, he gets back up, walking the book over to the shelf and replacing it. “And how is Faith?” He asks as he walks back.

“Good,” Buffy says. A blush raises to her face, thinking about Faith just an hour ago, firmly sandwiched between Buffy and her bed. “It seems like LA was good for her.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Giles says. “I’ll give Ms. Percy a call, and we’ll get started on your legal problems.”

Buffy gives him a weak smile. “Thanks.”

Across from her, Giles tries to maintain a chastising look, but abandons the futile attempt after a moment. “I’m glad she’s decided to stay,” he says. “You seem happier, too.”

He’s giving her the perfect opening, but it takes Buffy a moment to pull her courage together. “I am,” she says at length. “Giles,” she starts, “Faith and I…” She looks at his inscrutable face, hoping he’ll fill in the blank, but he waits for her to finish. “You told me to be careful, and I am. I know it’s complicated, and there’s a lot of history, but I also know how I feel about her. And I think she feels the same way.”

For a moment, Giles doesn’t say anything. Then he says, “And these feelings are romantic.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve told her how you feel?” Giles asks.

Well, not _told_ so much as showed with lots of kissing, but Buffy figures that’s close enough. She nods. Searching his face for a reaction, she doesn’t get much of one. “Are you freaking out about this?” She asks nervously, having very rarely seen her watcher at a loss for words.

“No,” Giles says immediately. “No, Buffy, of course not. It doesn’t matter to me who you want to date, as long as they treat you well and you’re happy. My concern is for the two of you considering your history.”

Buffy nods her agreement. “I understand that.”

Pulling his glasses off, Giles rests them on his knee. Without them, he looks older and more tired. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, then says, “Faith’s in a precarious place right now. The road she has ahead of her isn’t an easy one, and you’ve had your share of heartbreak as well.” He holds up his hand as Buffy tries to butt in. “I’m not trying to dissuade you, Buffy, just urging you to be cautious, given the stakes.”

It’s not that anything Giles is saying is wrong, but it’s hard not to feel demoralized by this conversation. She left home on such a high from her conversation with Faith, and here Giles is with his worries and words of caution. He’s bursting her bubble in a big way.

He must see how she’s feeling written plain on her face, because he softens slightly and says, “This isn’t coming across right.” He reaches for her hand, covering it with his. “I know you care for Faith. I saw how much it hurt you when you weren’t able to help her last year. I know that you wouldn’t have acted on this if you felt it might jeopardize Faith’s chance at reclaiming her life.” He squeezes her hand. “You’re always able to see the best in people. You don’t give up on them. You follow your heart above all else. I admire that about you, and I hope you know you’ll always have my support.”

Buffy blinks, her eyes suddenly burning.

“And I’ll do my best to support Faith as—” Giles cuts off as Buffy flings her arms around him, squeezing him a little too hard.

“Thank you, Giles.”

He pats her back awkwardly. “No thanks needed,” he says kindly, then clears his throat. “Now, I hope the two of you won’t let this relationship interfere with your training or your slaying duties.”

“Ah, there’s my Giles,” Buffy says sarcastically, letting him go.

They pull apart, Giles giving her a warm look before slipping his glasses back on. “Shall we get started on training?”

Buffy nods, getting up from the couch. Giles follows suit, walking over to the armoire to begin pulling out their training pads. Slipping her rings off, Buffy stacks them neatly on Giles’s desk. She glances at the clock, wondering if she’ll be able to catch Willow in their room when she gets back. She needs someone to listen to her gush about today’s news. Giles, wonderful though he is, isn’t exactly filling that need. This definitely requires girl talk. But first… kicking her watcher’s butt.

“Ready?” Giles asks, strapping on his chest guard.

“Ready,” Buffy says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always welcome and appreciated. :)


	18. Chapter 18

_She glances at the clock, wondering if she’ll be able to catch Willow in their room when she gets back. She needs someone to listen to her gush about today’s news. Giles, wonderful though he is, isn’t exactly filling that need. This definitely requires girl talk. But first… kicking her watcher’s butt._

_“Ready?” Giles asks, strapping on his chest guard._

_“Ready,” Buffy says._

Chapter Eighteen

Squinting at Giles’s living room furniture, Faith tries to decide if it’s all back in exactly the places it was residing before she and Giles pushed it out of the center of the room to make space for training. She’s not sure which table the lamp was on, but she thinks it looks mostly right. Deciding it’s good enough, she retrieves her water bottle from the breakfast bar and flops on the couch, putting her socked feet up on the coffee table.

She slugs back half the bottle, thirsty from spending the last hour blindfolded and trying to hit targets that Giles deployed in her direction. It was weird. Diana never suggested blindfolding her, but Giles seems to think she should work on honing her reflexes again since she’s been out of the game. It afforded her the opportunity to ask if he’d tried the blindfold on that young girlfriend of his, making him practically spit out the sip of tea he’d just sipped, so she figures it was worth it.

Giles comes back from freshening up and changing his clothes just as the doorbell rings. He diverts course, opening the door to a face full of helium-inflated balloons, wrangled by Willow. Behind her, Tara carries a bakery box. He steps back, allowing them both inside and taking a bag of party supplies from Willow’s arm.

Faith drops her feet to the floor, hopping off the couch and joining them at the breakfast bar.

“Hey,” Willow greets, sounding a little stressed out. She releases the balloons, letting them float up to rest on the ceiling.

“Hey,” Faith says. She waits for Tara to put the bakery box down, then immediately flips up the lid, checking out the pink frosted cake. “Nice,” she compliments, sticking a finger in the box toward one of the iced roses.

Tara swats her hand, immediately looking surprised at herself and turning a little pink. “S-Sorry,” she says, wide-eyed.

“Don’t be sorry,” Willow says, then turns a stern gaze on Faith. “No cake until tonight!”

“Okay, cake police,” Faith says, holding up her hands in surrender.

“Darn tootin’,” Willow says.

Attempt to taste the cake thwarted, Faith instead pokes into the bag of party supplies. “You’re not really going to make us wear these hats, are you?” She asks.

Two stone-faced witches are her answer.

Giles offers them both drinks, then makes his way into the kitchen to retrieve them. “So,” he asks as he opens the refrigerator, “is Buffy still in the dark about the plans for this evening?”

“Totally clueless,” Willow answers. “I saw her before class and told her I’d be spending the night at Tara’s.” As if realizing what she said, she immediately pales and turns nervous eyes in Giles’s direction.

He’s busy unearthing two canned drinks and doesn’t seem to catch Willow’s meaning, but Faith butts in anyway, not giving it time to click in his mind. “Anything else you need me to do tonight?” She asks the witches.

Willow flashes her a grateful smile.

“I think we have everything,” Tara says, seemingly running through a mental checklist. “And you’ll get her to the Bronze by 8?”

“Yes,” Faith says patiently, having had this same conversation with Willow twice already. “Where’s Xander? Figured he’d be helping you cart this stuff around.”

The response isn’t immediately forthcoming, and Faith looks up from the bag of supplies she’s still poking through. Willow’s frowning. “I’m going to go talk to him after this,” she says. “See if I can convince him to come.”

Confused, Faith asks, “Why wouldn’t he come?”

Tara looks between the two of them, and then says, “Mr. Giles, is now a good time to borrow that book we discussed?”

“Book?” Giles frowns.

“W-with the passages on Taglarin mythic rites?” Tara prompts. “I wanted to read more about them.”

“Oh!” Giles says. “Of course.” He leaves the kitchen, crossing the living room to his book collection with Tara on his heels.

Willow waits until they’ve gone and then says, “He and Buffy had kind of an argument.”

That doesn’t sound like Buffy. Faith’s never seen her mad at any of the super friends for more than a few hours. “About what?” Faith asks. Willow shifts uncomfortably, making it obvious to Faith what they argued about. “Oh,” she says.

“Not you,” Willow hurries to say. “I mean, not you in general.” She sighs, looking extremely guilty. “He kind of took it badly when he found out you two were uhh, seeing each other?” Willow plasters on a wide smile. “But it’s gonna be fine. He’ll come tonight, and they’ll talk, and everything will be fine.”

Faith crosses her arms under her breasts, forcing herself to nod. She can’t get upset about this. It’s Buffy’s birthday and tonight is about her.

“Are you okay?” Willow asks, and the concern makes an already awkward situation even more awkward, at least for Faith.

“Five by five,” Faith says, straightening her shoulders. She flashes Willow a smile, then looks back at Giles and Tara, who is accepting one of Giles’s books. She picks her keys up from the counter and stashes them in her pocket. “I gotta roll,” she says to all of them. “See you guys tonight.”

XXXXX

When she gets home, the scent of cooking greets her at the door. Faith drops her keys on the table in the foyer and kicks off her shoes, following her nose to the kitchen. Joyce stands at the island, slicing a wide loaf of fresh bread into sandwich size pieces.

“What’s cooking?” Faith asks, coming in and making her way to the pantry. She opens it, pulling out a bag of chips before hopping up onto the counter.

“Eggplant parmesan sandwiches,” Joyce answers. “A birthday tradition.”

Faith’s not sure she’s ever eaten eggplant herself, but given Buffy’s professed enjoyment of healthy type foods, she’s not surprised.

Joyce finishes slicing, then sets her knife down, moving the platter of sliced bread to the counter beside the stove. “When Buffy turned eight, my mom and I took her for a birthday lunch in the city. We told her she could have anything she wanted from the menu, and she picked an eggplant parm sandwich.” Joyce smiles fondly. “I think she just thought it sounded grown up. I thought for sure she’d hate it, but she loved it. Ever since, I try to make that for her birthday.” She gives Faith a secretive look. “I actually hate eggplant.”

For just a moment, the jealousy that used to eat at her when she compared her life to Buffy’s comes back full force. Buffy grew up with Joyce, who remembers her eighth birthday and eats food she hates because it makes her daughter smile. Faith never knew if her mom would be home, or conscious if she was. She wanted her mom to be like this. To remember her favorite things, to hug her and tell her she was proud of her, and take pictures of her going to prom or whatever. Most of all, she wanted her mom to still be here, whatever shape she was in. She knows that a good mom would be more like Joyce. A good mom wouldn’t be passed out in her room while her boyfriend found his way to her daughter’s. She wouldn’t blow their grocery money on booze and cigarettes. But she also remembers being very little, and having her mom tuck the blanket up around her chest before picking up Faith’s favorite Dr. Seuss book for the millionth time. And she remembers the feeling of her mother’s long dark hair—so like her own—tickling her cheeks as she leaned down to kiss Faith goodnight. Faith doesn’t think about her a lot, but it’s hard not to, when she sees the way Joyce loves Buffy. It’s hard not to wonder why her mom couldn’t be like this.

Joyce’s hand is warm on Faith’s knee. “You all right?” She asks, noticing Faith’s gone quiet.

“Yeah,” Faith says. Then she forces a smile to her mouth. “You’re a really good mom.”

Joyce blinks, surprised. “Thank you, Faith,” she says. She squeezes Faith’s knee and then lets go. “Do you have a favorite food I should keep in mind for your birthday?”

“I love everything you cook,” Faith demurs.

“Flatterer,” Joyce accuses while she cracks open the oven to check the progress of the eggplant. “I’m going to figure out what your favorite is,” she threatens. “I’ve got eleven months; that’s plenty of time.”

She knows Faith’s birthday?

Joyce sees the surprise on her face and gestures at the calendar hanging by the phone. “Buffy ratted you out,” she says. “Your birthday’s on the calendar now.”

In spite of the fact that she really doesn’t like her birthday, seeing her name printed in the little square for December 14th touches her. She slides off the counter, her momentary sadness fading. “You need my help with anything? Otherwise I’m gonna jump in the shower.”

“I’ve got it under control,” Joyce assures her. “Go ahead. I can use your help setting the table when you come down.”

XXXXX

Faith steps out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam billowing out around her. She listens for the sound of Buffy’s voice downstairs as she steps into the hallway. She doesn’t hear anything, but as she gets closer to her bedroom, she senses she’s not alone on the second floor. When Faith lets herself back in her room, towel wrapped around her body, she finds her bed occupied. Buffy lies on her back, one arm curled under her head, a wide smile on her face.

“Hey, birthday girl,” Faith greets, hand tightening a little on her towel. She closes the door behind her.

“Hey,” Buffy says, getting up and meeting her in the middle of the room. Not caring that Faith’s damp, and her hair’s still dripping, she wraps her arms around Faith and kisses her hello. “I missed you,” she informs her. “It’s been too many hours since I last saw you.”

Counting backward, Faith says, “Sixteen hours was too long?”

Buffy nods sincerely. “Much, much too long. The fact that you’re almost naked makes up for some of it though.”

“Is that so?” Faith asks, smirking.

“Mhmm,” Buffy says, running her fingertips over Faith’s bare shoulder slowly. “Pretty sure Mom wants you to wear clothes to dinner though.”

“You gonna leave so I can get dressed, then?” Faith lets the pressure of Buffy’s body hold her towel up so her hands can find Buffy’s waist.

“If you want me to,” Buffy says.

Faith shrugs. “I guess it _is_ your birthday,” she teases. “You can stay for the show if you want.”

“Happy birthday to me,” Buffy says, kissing her again. She releases Faith and moves to sit on the end of the bed, arching one eyebrow as if to tell Faith to get on with it.

Never one not to call a potential bluff, Faith smiles at her sweetly and pulls her towel free. She tilts her head, starting to gently rub her hair dry. There’s an audible uptick in Buffy’s pulse as she watches Faith’s chest jiggle with her rigorous drying motions.

Satisfied with the condition of her hair, Faith flings the towel in Buffy’s general direction and strides over to her dresser. In the top drawer, she considers her available underwear before selecting a new pair—one she bought herself this past weekend. They’re much skimpier than the ones Joyce purchased her, black, lacy, and partially see through. She plucks a bra free from the drawer as well, then closes it. Coming back to the bed, she stops by Buffy’s knee.

Faith places the bra on the bed, then lets the panties slip from her hand. “Oops,” she says lightly. She bends down slowly, bracing her hand on Buffy’s thigh as she goes. Her hand slides up Buffy’s leg, squeezing. She finds the underwear and plucks them from the floor. On her way back up, she arches her back a little, leaning into Buffy’s space so her tits are basically in Buffy’s face. “Got them,” she says innocently as she straightens back up.

Strong hands find her hips, and Buffy says, “That wasn’t very nice.”

“I thought it was,” Faith counters. She moves a little closer, setting her feet on either side of one of Buffy’s. “You can’t handle a little teasing?”

“I can handle it,” Buffy says, although her face is pink.

They’re still learning the parameters of this particular dance. They’re taking it slow by Buffy’s request, but it’s hard to remember why when Buffy’s thumbs are stroking the sensitive skin where her hip meets her thigh. Still, she did say that’s what she wanted, and one of them has to be the responsible one. She wouldn’t have predicted that it would be her, but nevertheless, Faith takes a step back, out of reach of Buffy’s hands, and steps into her underwear. Once she’s at least partially clothed again, she does a slow turn, showing off her new underwear from all angles, enjoying the sound of Buffy’s breathing speeding up. She might be respectful of Buffy’s wishes, but she’s not a saint. “You like?” She asks with a grin.

“I liked you better naked,” Buffy says, “but this is a close second. Come back over here?”

Faith shakes her head. “Nope, you got handsy. I said you could have a show, that was it.”

“Hmmph,” Buffy says, as Faith turns her back to get a pair of jeans from her dresser. “Like you’d be able to keep your hands to yourself if I pranced around naked in front of you.”

Laughing, Faith turns around and starts pulling her jeans on. “First of all, I did not prance,” she says, zipping and buttoning. “Second of all, I could.”

“You could not,” Buffy scoffs.

Faith comes over to the bed, reaching for the bra she left beside Buffy. “Could so.”

“Could—“

“B,” Faith cuts in, quickly straddling Buffy’s lap, bra still dangling from her hand. “You wanna argue or you wanna kiss me before your mom sends a search party up here?”

From downstairs, they both hear Joyce call, _“Girls! Dinner’s almost ready!”_

Faith moves to get up, but Buffy snags her belt loop, pulling her back into place. She kisses Faith, her other hand coming up to thread into Faith’s damp hair. “I do wanna argue,” she says as she releases her again, “but I’ll save it for later.”

Shaking her head at Buffy, Faith starts to get up. She manages to get one foot back on the floor and start to raise herself up before Buffy abruptly leans in and captures one of her nipples in her mouth. She has time to let out a startled sound before Buffy sucks, swirling her tongue firmly around Faith’s nipple, then lets go.

Faith stands on one foot, half bent over Buffy, an indignant look on her face. “And _I’m_ not nice?”

Buffy merely grins and offers Faith her hand to help her the rest of the way to her feet.

XXXXX

“You’ll be careful with my car,” Joyce half asks, half orders as she holds her keys out to Faith.

“Yes,” Faith agrees.

“And you won’t be drinking.”

“Mom,” Buffy says, “we’re going to the Bronze. They card.”

Joyce gives her a pointed look. “I’ve been to the Bronze. I didn’t see a lot of carding going on.”

“Would that be the time you ate the band candy and the Bronze was full of adults acting like teenagers and making out with librar—”

“Happy Birthday, sweetheart,” Joyce cuts in, dropping her keys into Faith’s hand and reaching out to hug Buffy.

“Thanks, Mom,” Buffy says, hugging her back. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Joyce replies. She pulls back a little, frowning and cupping Buffy’s face. “My baby. Nineteen. You’re all grown up. How did this happen?”

“Not that grown up,” Buffy assures her. “You did just give your keys to Faith instead of me.”

“Valid point,” Joyce agrees. She smiles, strokes Buffy’s cheek again, then lets her go. “Be safe and have fun,” she tells them both.

“We will,” Faith says. She opens the front door, gesturing for Buffy to go first, then follows her out. She thinks about opening the car door for Buffy too, but Joyce is standing on the porch watching them go, so she unlocks the Jeep and lets Buffy get her own door. As they pull out of the driveway, Buffy reaches across the console and puts her hand on Faith’s leg companionably. “You sure you want to go out?” She asks in a mischievous tone. “Willow’s not gonna be home tonight. We could just go back to my room.”

Faith glances over at her, before shifting into Drive and starting down Revello. “I thought you wanted to dance.”

“I did,” Buffy agrees, squeezing her thigh, “but then I started thinking, we could dance in my room.”

Smirking, Faith says, “Oh really?”

“Mhmm,” Buffy says. “A little dancing, a little making out… the perfect birthday.”

Faith can’t really argue with that logic. She’s almost tempted to just blow off the Bronze and take Buffy up on that offer, except that her friends are waiting for them. “But I put on my fancy dancing clothes.”

“Oh, is that what that top is?” Buffy asks, gesturing toward the black, diaphanous long sleeved shirt Faith’s wearing with only a bra underneath. “I thought it was just a birthday present for me.”

“Oh, it’s for you,” Faith agrees, “but it’s also for going out. We haven’t really been anywhere since I woke up. I’m getting a little antsy.” She’s really not, but it sounds believable enough. “We don’t have to stay long if you don’t want to.”

“Okay,” Buffy agrees.

XXXXX

For someone who calls herself the slayer, it takes longer than Faith’s expecting for Buffy to notice the table decorated with balloons and a pile of gifts. Even with Giles and Tara sitting behind it smiling. It takes Willow almost bumping into them with two pitchers of soda before Buffy realizes she’s been set up.

“You guys,” she says in a touched voice, scoping out her presents and the cake box. “I thought you were busy tonight!” She looks at Willow. “You said you had plans!”

“I lied,” Willow says, setting the pitchers down.

“Who are you?” Buffy teases. “My Willow can’t lie to save her life.”

“I’m a woman of many talents,” Willow says with a grin.

“I’m getting that,” Buffy says. “Oooh, are those hats?”

To Faith’s dismay, Buffy’s actually pretty excited about the party hats. She dutifully puts one on, even though it’s pink and feathered. Today is B’s day.

When Riley comes strolling in a while later with some dude named Graham accompanying him, she feels even more self-conscious about the dumb hat, but she squares her shoulders and forces a polite smile for both of them. Riley’s friend gives her a not particularly subtle once over, his eyes lingering a little too long south of her chin. He’s got that same general look as Riley, bulky, square jawed. Maybe the Initiative is churning them out in a factory somewhere, an assembly line of cookie cutter meatheads.

“Happy Birthday!” Riley greets Buffy, leaning in to give her a one armed hug. “You guys know Graham, right?”

Willow and Tara nod, but Faith and Giles don’t, so Buffy makes introductions. She doesn’t explain the relationships between any of them, and Graham seems a little puzzled by Giles’s presence, but he gamely holds out his hand for each of them to shake. Faith smiles innocently when he winces a little at her grip.

Although she knows Riley knows about her and Buffy, Faith still can’t help but distrust the guy. Maybe because she heard him telling Buffy how much he likes her. Maybe because she knows what it’s like to pine over Buffy, and how very little she cared about the fact that Buffy was in a relationship at the time. Whatever it is, Riley’s not topping her list of favorite people. Still, for Buffy’s sake, she tries to play nice.

When Riley and Graham manage to commandeer the pool table, Faith waves Buffy off with a smile. She takes Willow with her, leaving Faith with Tara and Giles, who are deep in a conversation about transmogrification. Faith doesn’t mind. It’s nice to have a breather from keeping sweet with Buffy’s friends. Not that she has a problem with any of them, other than Riley, but it gets to be a lot, being surrounded by that many people. She’d rather sip her soda in peace for a few. Faith’s doing just that and bobbing her head to the music, when Tara gets her attention with a hand on her forearm. She looks over to find Giles retreating toward the crowded bar, and Tara smiling shyly at her.

She’s still getting to know Tara, but of all the super friends, Faith finds her pretty easy to be around. Tara exudes kind of a calm energy, and as an added bonus, Faith’s never tried to do anything terrible to her, so there’s no history to be mindful of. “Having a good time?” Tara asks, leaning in to be heard over the music.

Faith nods. “You guys did a great job setting up. B was really surprised.”

Pleased, Tara says, “Good. Willow was really nervous she’d end up letting the cat out of the bag.” She gives Faith a knowing smile. “Probably helps that they’ve hardly seen each other since you got back.”

Smirking, Faith says, “You complaining about the amount of nights she’s spending at your place?”

“N-No,” Tara says, glancing past Faith to look at Willow. “No complaints about that. She's, um, she's really cool.” She ducks her head a little at the last comment.

Willow’s got her good points, but Faith’s never found her to be particularly _cool_ , at least not in the way Tara obviously does. Still, Willow’s really made an effort to be cordial and welcoming to Faith since she’s been back, so she nods. “Yeah, she’s great.”

“Buffy’s pretty great, too,” Tara volunteers.

Faith gives her a sideways look. “Hey now, you got your own girl to drool over.”

Laughing, Tara says, “Don’t worry. She’s only got eyes for you anyway.”

“Yeah?” Faith asks, looking over at the pool table. Buffy’s laughing at something Graham said, waiting for her next turn.

“Oh, yeah,” Tara says. She follows Faith’s gaze to the pool table. “Boys,” she says with some derision. “Not really my thing.”

Turning back to Tara, Faith says, “I know what you mean.”

“I thought you,” Tara starts, her eyebrows rising, “Umm, I mean, I thought Willow said you were…”

Faith can imagine what Willow might have said. “They get the job done sometimes. But anything more than that?” She shrugs.

Tara nods like she gets what Faith is saying. Her eyes skip past Faith, and Faith looks that way just in time to see Graham approaching.

“Hey,” he greets them both, helping himself to a cup and a drink.

Beside her, Tara murmurs a quiet hello, leaving Faith in the position of having to talk to the guy. “Hey,” she says back. “Good game?”

“Got our asses handed to us actually,” Graham admits, sipping from his cup. The way he’s looking at her makes it obvious he likes what he’s seeing. “You wanna dance?” He asks, politely enough.

Faith’s surprised. In spite of the way his eyes keep wandering to her tits, she figured he’d know she isn’t exactly here alone. Before she can respond, Buffy’s next to her chair. She drops one hand onto Faith’s thigh and leans in closer, flashing her a dazzling smile. “Hey, baby,” she says sweetly.

Knowing that Buffy definitely heard Graham, Faith bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing and slips her arm around Buffy’s waist. Graham has the good grace to look mildly embarrassed, so she takes pity on him and smiles in his direction. “Heard you were killing it at pool,” she says to Buffy, her thumb rubbing Buffy’s hip.

“It was mostly Willow,” Buffy admits. “I helped a little.”

“You sunk one ball,” Willow corrects as she and Riley re-join them at the table. Off Buffy’s pout, she amends her statement. “I mean, it’s your birthday, so yes, you helped! You helped so much!”

Buffy pantomimes kicking her as Willow squeezes behind Faith’s chair to get back to her own. She turns to Faith, “Dance now?”

XXXXX

Buffy’s in her element, grinning, her cheeks flushed, hair pinned back by the little party hat she’s wearing. Several obviously drunk girls almost fall into them to wish her a happy birthday, and she accepts their well wishes graciously. She sways within Faith’s hold, her fingertips gliding up and down Faith’s arms and toying with the ends of her hair. The music isn’t the Dingoes, but it’s not too bad.

As the song winds down, Faith takes her hand, spinning her and nearly taking out the couple dancing closest to them before she drags her back in, pulling Buffy flush against her. Smiling as Buffy laughs, Faith lets her hands wander over Buffy’s hips, one of them slipping into her back pocket. “So,” she says, leaning in close so her words whisper against Buffy’s ear, “you still wanna get out of here early?”

Buffy leans back far enough to give her a look.

“Figured I’d ask,” Faith says innocently.

“Looked like Graham wanted to get you out of here.”

“I think he got the picture,” Faith assures her. “You all but peed on my leg.”

Buffy shoots her a disgruntled look. “I did not!”

“Did so,” Faith says. “It was cute though. I like jealous Buffy."

Buffy’s about to respond when she catches sight of Xander and Anya making their way to their reserved table. Over Faith’s shoulder, she meets Xander’s eyes. He gives her a small smile. She doesn’t realize her hands have tightened on Faith’s arms until Faith looks in the direction of the table. “You wanna go say hi?” She asks.

“I probably should,” Buffy agrees, feeling a little nervous about it. “Things have been kind of weird with us.”

“I heard.”

Surprised, Buffy looks at her. “Willow?”

Faith nods.

“What did she say?”

“That he wasn’t happy about me and you,” Faith says flatly.

Unsure if Faith’s upset that Buffy didn’t tell her about what was going on with Xander, Buffy gives her an apologetic look. “I wasn’t trying to keep that a secret from you. I didn’t want you to feel like it was your fault.”

“I get it,” Faith says. She squeezes Buffy’s hip. “Go say hi,” she says. “You want another soda?”

“Yes, please,” Buffy says gratefully.

They separate, Faith going to the bar, and Buffy headed for the table.

Xander steps forward to meet her at the edge of the dance floor. “Happy birthday,” he says when she arrives in front of him. “Anya’s putting your present at the table.” He looks back in that direction. “And maybe scoping out which one to take for herself. Maybe I didn’t explain birthday traditions well enough.”

Buffy gives him a small smile. “I’m glad you came.”

“Yeah,” Xander says, scratching the back of his head, “well, you know I wouldn’t miss your birthday.”

They stand together in awkward silence for a moment. Then Xander looks past her, to where Faith is leaning over the bar to be heard above the loud music. “This Faith thing is sticking, huh?”

Buffy nods.

“All right.”

“‘All right?’” Buffy repeats. “That’s it?”

“I’m not saying I’m jumping on board the good ship Faith and Buffy,” Xander clarifies, “but it has been suggested to me, repeatedly and with increasing volume, that you might have had a point.”

“By Willow?” Buffy asks, feeling a rush of affection for their mutual best friend.

“By Willow,” Xander agrees. “Look, Buff, you’re my friend, and I love you. That’s more important to me than anything else.”

“I love you, too,” Buffy says.

Xander holds out his arms tentatively. “Birthday hug?”

“Yes, please,” Buffy says, stepping in and wrapping her arms around his waist.

Predictably, Anya appears beside them almost instantly. “Happy Birthday, Buffy,” she says dutifully. Perhaps in deference to Buffy’s birthday, she doesn’t comment on the fact that Buffy is wrapped in Xander’s arms.

“Thank you,” Buffy says, as she and Xander part.

“We brought you a gift,” Anya says, more cheerful now that they’re no longer touching. “It’s a shirt. I chose it. I wanted to keep it for myself, but Xander reminded me that we have to give you something because it’s your birthday and we’re being fed cake.” She beams at Xander.

Buffy smiles. “Thank you, Anya. I’m sure I’ll love it.”

“If you don’t, you can give it back,” Anya informs her enthusiastically.

Xander makes an apologetic face, but Buffy just nods. “Okay then. Thank you.”

“Oh,” Anya says, as if she’s remembered something else she wanted to say, “and congratulations on your new lesbian relationship with Faith!”

“Ahn,” Xander croaks, sounding mortified.

“What?” Anya asks, looking between them. “You told me to show an interest in people’s lives.”

“Thank you,” Buffy says again, trying to smooth the situation over. She sees Xander’s shoulders straighten a moment later, and glances behind her. Faith is approaching with two glasses, one in each hand.

“Hey,” Faith says to the three of them as she arrives at Buffy’s side. She holds out one glass to Buffy.

“Faith, hey,” Xander says. He manages a small smile. “How’s it going?”

“Five by five,” Faith says. “How about you?” She’s firmly back in her armor, wide smile in place, looking completely at ease with Xander and Anya. She stands beside Buffy, not moving close enough to touch her, as the four of them try to struggle through small talk.

“Can we have cake now?” Anya asks, putting them all out of their misery.

“Yes!” Buffy says. “Great idea.”

“Is it chocolate?”

“Strawberry,” Buffy says, motioning for them to lead the way to the table.

Anya’s face shows obvious disappointment with her answer, but she turns and heads back to the table, Xander falling into step beside her.

Faith lets them get a few paces ahead before she looks at Buffy. “Everything good?”

“Mhmm,” Buffy says, “perfect.” She switches her drink to her free hand, taking Faith’s hand as they walk toward the table full of her friends.

XXXXX

Sitting cross-legged on her bed in her pajamas, Buffy brushes her hair. Across the room, Faith’s removing her earrings and necklace, placing them carefully on Buffy’s dresser. When she’s finished, she moves over to the small TV stand and bends down, reaching behind it. Buffy watches in confusion as she unearths a small package, wrapped in plain brown paper.

“Where’d that come from?” Buffy asks, her mouth curling into a smile.

“Hid it here yesterday,” Faith says with a self-satisfied smirk.

Buffy waits for her to hand it over, finally giving in and making a grabby hands motion.

Coming back to the bed, Faith sits down beside her and hands the small package over.

It’s a few inches thick, neatly wrapped and tied with a velvet burgundy ribbon. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” Buffy says, looking up from the package.

Looking embarrassed, Faith says, “It’s not much.”

Buffy unties the ribbon, pulling it free and setting it aside. Sliding a finger under the flap along the back of the package, she gently peels the tape back until the paper’s open. It’s a book, its cover an intricate design of black and gold. She traces her fingers over the title. _Dracula_. The book she first used to call Faith to meet her in the library. Buffy’s eyes sting a little.

“Look in the back,” Faith suggests.

On the back page, there’s a little sleeve, a new library date card tucked in it. The first row is completed with the name Faith Lehane, and the due date December 8, 1999. The next line reads Buffy Summers, with today’s date. Below that, in tiny, neat handwriting, there’s a message:

_B—_

_Van Helsing’s got nothing on you._

_—F_

There’s a small heart next to Faith’s initial. Buffy grins. “Where’d you get one of these cards?”

Faith shrugs. “I know a librarian,” she says. “Well, ex librarian, I guess.”

As she’s turning the book back to face up orientation, she notices a length of burgundy ribbon tucked in between the pages. Buffy flips to that page, finding one line underlined in red pen. _“There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights.”_

“Reminded me of you,” Faith says softly.

Buffy sits with that a moment, rereading the words to herself.

“You’re the good thing in the mess that is my life,” Faith adds, her voice earnest even as she’s looking down at her hands. “The best thing really.”

For someone who was adamant she wouldn’t be doing any poetry recitals, Faith’s walked right up to the line of romantic gestures and jumped across it. Closing the book gently, Buffy sets it and the wrapping paper beside her on the bed. She shifts onto her knee, taking Faith’s face in both hands and kissing her. “Thank you,” she says.

Faith’s hands find her waist. “I wanted to get you more,” she says, sounding apologetic.

“Faith,” Buffy says, “I love it. It’s perfect.”

They sink back against the bed together. “Thank you,” Buffy says again, in between slow, soft kisses against Faith’s mouth.

“You’re welcome,” Faith says, her face a little pink. “Happy Birthday, B.” Her arms tighten around Buffy’s back.

“I know what you’re doing though,” Buffy says thoughtfully. “Distracting me with gifts so I don’t pick up our argument from earlier.”

Faith snickers. “About how I could control myself if you prance around me naked?”

“Mhmm,” Buffy says.

“Okay, let’s settle this,” Faith says, nudging her hip. “Get naked. Start prancing, birthday girl.”

“Too tired now,” Buffy says, snuggling against her side. “I can’t prance.”

“Sounds like you’re just trying to punk out because you know I’m right,” Faith grumbles, “but fine. Argument to be continued. Want me to get the light?”

“Mhmm.”

Reaching over to the lamp, Faith flicks it off, sending the room into shadow. She maneuvers her feet around the edge of the blanket and manages to yank it over her legs, close enough to reach down and pull it over both of them.

The bed here is smaller than either of theirs back at home, but Buffy can’t say she minds. It just means they have no option but to snuggle. Tucked in Faith’s arm, she lets her palm rest on Faith’s chest, feeling the steady beating of her heart beneath it. Her fingertips rest on soft bare skin above the neckline of her tank top. “Faith?” She says softly.

“Yeah?”

“You’re the good thing in my life, too.”

Faith’s quiet for a second, then she leans down, nudging Buffy’s chin up so she can kiss her. Her mouth is soft, and she finds Buffy’s hand on her chest, covering it with hers. She doesn’t say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always welcome and appreciated! Currently I've got up through Chapter 20 done and I think we'll be wrapping up at Chapter 22, so we are in the home stretch!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks to CharcoalTeeth for advance reading, listening to me overanalyze things, and being generally amazing. Much appreciated!

_Faith’s quiet for a second, then she leans down, nudging Buffy’s chin up so she can kiss her. Her mouth is soft, and she finds Buffy’s hand on her chest, covering it with hers. She doesn’t say anything else._

Chapter Nineteen  
  


Faith’s fist connects with the padded mitt, hard enough to knock Giles’s hand backward, but not hard enough to actually injure him. She gives him a second to reposition then goes in for the kill again: left hook, right jab, half hop backward before she hits him again with an axe kick.

“Good,” Giles encourages, rotating so she has to follow.

The furniture is pushed to the sides of his living room, the two of them circling slowly through the center.

“Block,” Giles calls, giving her a half second warning before swinging his left arm at her head.

Faith ducks, then cartwheels, kicking his hand out of the air. Giles swings a leg toward her ankles, and she jumps it easily.

He strikes at her side this time, and Faith brings her arm down, blocking the mitt, and shoving him backward lightly.

She pauses as Giles stumbles slightly. “Sorry, G, you okay?”

“Fine,” Giles says, righting himself. He glances at the clock behind her. “I think our time’s about up though, isn’t it?”

She’s supposed to be at City Hall in an hour. Faith nods, dropping her hands. “Yeah,” she agrees. “Thanks for the workout.”

Giles strips off the padded mitts and shakes his hands out.

“You good?” Faith asks, jogging over to the breakfast bar to retrieve her water bottle.

“I’m fine,” Giles assures her. “I’m not decrepit quite yet. You don’t have to hold back so much.”

Taking a long sip, Faith shrugs. “Buffy’ll be mad if I break you.”

Smiling, Giles stows the mitts away and goes to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water.

Faith finishes downing her water. She rolls her neck. She’s a little sweaty, not a bad workout.

“And you,” Giles asks, “how are you?” He leans against the kitchen counter, catching his breath.

“Five by five,” Faith says easily.

“How’s community service going?”

“Great,” Faith says flatly.

Giles smiles faintly. “I understand your lack of enthusiasm, but maybe it will help to feel like you’re taking responsibility for something, in a tangible way.”

“Maybe,” Faith says, but she doubts it. She doesn’t feel particularly guilty for breaking into the sporting goods store, or for busting out of that cop car. It’s all kind of petty, compared to her later indiscretions. Plus, she still feels like shit about taking Buffy down with her, even if they both got off with a slap on the wrist.

“I have another suggestion I’d like to make,” Giles says, refilling his glass.

His words make her look over. That’s right up there with _we need to talk_ in terms of phrases that put her on edge.

“I have a few contacts who are ex-council,” Giles says, “people who were let go for not agreeing with the council’s methods, or who chose to leave rather than sacrifice their personal ethics. There is one in particular who I think would be of use to you, if you’ll permit me to reach out to her.”

“Of use to me how?” Faith asks suspiciously.

“She’s a psychologist,” Giles says.

Faith lets that roll around her brain for a long moment. “You think I need a shrink?”

Giles sips calmly. He sets his glass down, looking tired without his glasses perched on his nose. “Yes,” he says frankly, not bothering to couch it in platitudes. “I think you lost someone very close to you, nearly died in a violent way, and you took two lives. That’s more than most people can manage on their own, and you did all of that in a little over a year.”

Faith frowns at him. “I’m dealing with it.”

“I know you are,” Giles agrees easily, “but it’s not a sign of weakness to talk to someone about it. It’s a sign of strength, knowing when to accept help. I wish I’d had the opportunity to see a therapist after Randall died.”

She’s been gearing up to protest, but the matter-of-fact way that he mentions the friend whose death he helped bring about disarms her. Faith deflates slightly. “I’ll think about it,” she says begrudgingly. Think about never bringing it up again, more like, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Thank you,” Giles says. “Shall we move the furniture back?”

XXXXX

There’s a knock at the door as Buffy finishes applying her lip-gloss. She quickly caps the tube, checking her makeup again before she goes to answer.

Tara stands on the other side and she gives Buffy a small smile. “Hi,” she says. “We’re still meeting for lunch, right?”

Buffy nods, waving Tara in. “Willow should be back at any minute,” she says. “Sometimes she ends up staying after talking to the professor.”

Tara ducks her head a little as she comes inside. “I know,” she agrees. “She’s late at least half the time we make lunch plans after her psych class.” She pulls the strap of her messenger bag over her head and sets it down beside Willow’s bed, gingerly taking a seat.

“How are you?” Buffy asks. “Did you have that test you were stressing about yet? Was it… econ?”

Looking surprised that Buffy remembered, Tara nods. “Yeah, it was today. I think I did okay. The teacher is tough. Half the questions aren’t even from things we covered in class.” She smiles, tucking her hair behind her ears. “How are you?”

“Good,” Buffy answers automatically. “It’s been kind of slow on patrol this past week.” She opens her closet door, pulling out a light jacket to wear to lunch. She hasn’t spent too much time with Tara since she and Willow began seeing each other. The four of them have hung out twice, and both times it was mostly Willow and Buffy doing the talking, with occasional commentary from Faith and very little from Tara. She’s shy, that much is clear. Actually, in a way, she’s not totally dissimilar to Oz. Oz never seemed shy, but he _was_ quiet. You didn’t get much perspective into his inner world. Tara, she knows, is a powerful witch. She also put herself into the line of fire to help rescue Faith, which makes her good people in Buffy’s book. Plus she seems to make Willow happy. She’s practically been floating on air for weeks, and Buffy knows Tara is the cause of that. As an added bonus, she’s got a single room, leading to lots of sleepovers with Willow that give Buffy the room to herself.

“And how’s Faith?” Tara asks.

It’s nice, having someone in their circle now who isn’t predisposed to dislike being around Faith. Willow’s trying, but there are still some awkward moments. “She’s good, I think. Probably on her way to make the community safe from graffiti and litter as we speak.”

“How’s that going?”

“Service-y,” Buffy says, with a grimace. “Next week we’re supposed to plant new bushes in the park, so that’ll be a pleasant change of pace from scrubbing walls.” She holds up her hand, displaying short nails with chipped polish. “As if slaying isn’t bad enough for my manicure.”

“Not as bad as it could have been,” Tara points out gently.

“Definitely not,” Buffy agrees, taking a seat on her bed so they’re facing each other.

“And things are good, with you two?” Tara asks, giving her a curious smile.

“Yeah,” Buffy says decisively. She glances at the clock next to her bed. Willow’s only 5 minutes late getting back; they probably have another 5 or 10 before she arrives. “Tara,” she asks impulsively, “can I ask you something personal?”

Tara looks caught off guard but she nods.

“You’ve, umm, been with other girls before Willow, right?”

“Yes,” Tara says, looking confused.

“Have you ever... or was anyone you were with...” Buffy hesitates, turning a little red. “Like, not been able to… finish?”

“Oh,” Tara says, eyes widening. “Umm.”

“I’m sorry!” Buffy says quickly. “That was so intrusive, I know. I’m sorry; forget I asked.” _Way to go, Buffy._ Willow’s late meeting them for lunch, and she uses that time to interrogate her girlfriend about her sex life.

“N-No, Buffy,” Tara says, although she’s a little pink herself now. “It’s okay; I don’t mind.” She gives Buffy a sympathetic look. “I-I think that happens sometimes.”

“Oh,” Buffy says, feeling a little relieved.

“Are you and Faith...?”

“We’re taking it slow,” Buffy says, giving her half the truth. “I guess I just wanted to know, umm, if there’s anything I could do to make sure... that it’s good for her? In case we have that issue. Or I do,” Buffy says, her voice a little too loud and nervous. “Either of us.”

To her credit, Tara just nods calmly. “I would say, just be patient? Sometimes it’s a learning curve, getting used to someone new and w… w-what they like.”

That makes sense. Buffy nods.

“You could also try toys,” Tara says, stammering over the last word. “Sometimes a vibrator is a little bit easier, if you’re nervous.”

Vibrator. Right. She’s got one of those. She’s always thought of it as more of a solo activity, but sharing could be good. Sharing with Faith could be very good.

“But it’s also okay, if someone doesn’t finish,” Tara offers, breaking Buffy out of the mental images her brain is starting to conjure. “It’s normal, I mean. Some people never do, or they only do sometimes.”

“I don’t think that’s the case here,” Buffy says.

Tara gives her an encouraging look. “You could always talk to her, if you’re worried.”

Smoothing wrinkles out of her bedspread, Buffy sighs. “I _could_ ,” she says.

“Faith really likes you,” Tara points out, “so I bet she would talk about it if it was important to you.” When Buffy looks surprised, she says, “It’s kind of obvious.”

“Is it?” Buffy asks, pleased.

Nodding, Tara says, “Totally.”

“Thanks, Tara,” Buffy says, feeling better already.

Tara looks happy to have helped. “S-sure.”

From the hall, they both hear the sound of chatting voices approaching. Buffy says, “If you don’t mind keeping this conversation just between us…”

“I won't tell anyone what we talk about,” Tara assures her. “Any time you want to talk about this stuff, or anything else. I know what it’s like,” she adds, “figuring sexuality stuff out.”

Smiling her thanks, Buffy asks, “How old were you when you realized you were gay?” She frowns suddenly. “Or bi? Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.”

“Gay’s fine,” Tara assures her. “I guess I always knew. My mom was the only person I told from my family. My dad and brother, they’re… they wouldn’t understand.”

Coming out. Right. That’s a thing she needs to do.

“What about you?”

“Oh,” Buffy says. It still seems surprising that she has an answer to this kind of question—that she’s now in this group of people who have gay epiphany stories. “Umm, consciously? Like four months ago. But there were… signs, when Faith first came to town.” She smiles sheepishly. “That sounds stupid.”

“It doesn’t,” Tara assures her. “Everybody has their own story. You were open to following your heart where it took you. I think that’s brave.”

The voices in the hall are a little louder now, and they both glance toward the door. A moment later, the doorknob turns and Willow comes in, looking concerned. “Hey,” she says, putting her bag down. “Sorry I’m late.” Moving over to her bed, she sits down beside Tara, kissing her hello. “Something’s happened.”

“What?” Buffy asks.

“Professor Walsh is dead,” Willow says, frowning. “They’re not saying how, but given that we know she runs a secret demon research facility…”

“It’s not exactly leaping to conclusions to wonder if this wasn’t natural causes,” Buffy finishes for her. “I should call Riley. See how he’s doing.” She gets up to grab the cordless from its cradle on Willow’s desk, but it rings before she can get there. Frowning, Buffy picks up. “Hello?”

_“Buffy,”_ Giles greets, _“turn on the news.”_

She glances around the room, spotting the remote on her bedside table. Picking it up, she turns the TV on and flips through the channels until she finds local news. As she turns up the volume, the three of them focus on the TV in time to hear the announcer wrapping up a segment on a murder. _“A source in the coroner's office tells us that the boy was stabbed with what looks like some kind of large skewer, and his body was then mutilated. Police have not named a suspect, and the killer is still at large.”_

Willow looks at Buffy, alarmed. “The Polgara demon the Initiative wanted?”

Clicking the speakerphone button, Buffy holds the handset out between the three of them.

_“Exactly what I was thinking,”_ Giles says. _“It appears the Initiative hasn’t caught up with it after all.”_

“Or,” Buffy suggests, wheels turning in her head, “maybe they did and it was more than they could handle. Maggie Walsh is dead.”

_“How?”_ Giles asks, sounding shocked.

“We don’t know yet,” Willow answers.

_“Have you spoken with Riley?”_

“That’s my next stop,” Buffy confirms. She glances at the clock. “Is Faith still at your house?”

_“She’s gone for her shift,”_ Giles says.

“Okay, I’ll leave a message at home, then see if I can find Riley. Faith and I will look around tonight.”

_“Be careful, Buffy,”_ Giles says. _“If this Polgara is responsible for Walsh’s death and then managed to escape the Initiative…”_

Tara and Willow wear identical looks of concern.

“I know,” Buffy says. “We’ll be careful.”

XXXXX

Operation track down Riley is a total bust. He’s not in his room, and classes are cancelled for the rest of the day, so there’s no hope of catching him there. She asks Willow to try paging him and let her know if he calls back, but so far, radio silence. That leaves the possibility that he’s in the Initiative compound. Without further info on Walsh’s cause of death, she decides to concentrate on ferreting out the Polgara. Even if Walsh died of completely unrelated causes, it’s the most likely suspect for the child found shish kebab’d in the park.

It’s just after sunset by the time she makes her way through Restfield Cemetery, eyes peeled for a peroxide headed pain in the ass that she hasn’t staked yet, for some reason. She spots him strolling in the opposite direction, smoking a cigarette as he goes. Quickening her step, Buffy closes the distance between them. She’s nearly at his back when Spike sighs and turns around to regard her. “Slayer,” he says with annoyance, “to what do I owe the displeasure?”

“How’re the new digs, Spike?”

“Fine, thanks,” he says, flicking the ash of his cigarette vaguely in her direction. “I don’t see a housewarming gift in your hands.”

“You don’t see a stake either,” Buffy points out, “so how about you give me some information, and I’ll let you go back to… whatever it is you’re doing.”

He rolls his eyes. “How exactly have you and your merry band of whelps managed to avoid dying without my help this long?”

Crossing her arms, Buffy gives him an impatient look.

“Fine,” Spike says. “What?”

“The Initiative,” Buffy says, watching his eyes brighten slightly with interest. “They were looking for a Polgara demon a few weeks ago. I think they caught it, but something went wrong. Maggie Walsh is dead, and it seems like a Polgara’s conveniently loose in Sunnydale again.”

“The bitch is dead?” Spike asks, a smile spreading across his face. He takes a drag of his cigarette. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.”

Buffy’s not the biggest fan of Walsh herself, so she doesn’t waste time defending her honor. “There’s something off about that place.”

“And?” Spike asks, nonplussed.

“And I want you to tell me what you know,” Buffy says impatiently. “You were in there. You must have heard things, saw things. Why would they be looking for a Polgara specifically?”

Spike thinks about that for a second. “314,” he says.

“What’s that?”

“Don’t know,” Spike says. “I was in a holding cell being drugged. But I remember hearing that. They had a grappler. Said it was going to 314.”

“What’s a grappler?”

Dropping his depleted butt to the ground, Spike steps on it. “Ugly buggers, great big tusks, feels like getting run over by a semi when they hit you.”

“So if this Polgara was going to ‘314,’” Buffy says, trying to put the pieces together, “and the grappler. What would they need them for?”

“Sounds like a mystery for the Slayerettes,” Spike says with mock enthusiasm. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Buffy waves him off, satisfied that he probably doesn’t have anything else to offer, and turns around, back in the direction of the street. As she walks, she mentally lays out the different pieces of the Initiative as she understands them, trying to make them fit. It feels like forever ago now, but in reality it’s only been a few months since her trip to bizarro Sunnydale. She vividly remembers being picked up and detained by the Initiative, and the way Faith got her out of there despite not even knowing who or what Buffy was. Just based on a good feeling about her, and a bad feeling about the Initiative.

Graham had told her they were collecting information on demon species’ abilities so they could come up with new ways of protecting humans from them, but she’d also seen the kind of ‘research’ they were doing. Buffy kills demons; that’s the job. She finds and stops creatures that are attacking or hurting humans, as quickly as she can. But she doesn’t torture them. She also knows there are neutral or even good demons, and she’s happy to take a live and let live approach on it. Somehow she doesn’t think the Initiative shares that approach.

A military organization interested in demons seems inherently suspect. She doesn’t know much about their goals, other than the supposed research, and chipping vampires. Beyond that, she only really has instinct to go on. But instinct’s gotten her this far. Something’s rotten in the Initiative. She feels it. And now it’s spilled over into her town.

She’s almost to Willy’s Place when she sees a familiar figure coming toward her. Half a block away, Faith flashes her a grin and waves. She’s dressed for hunting, clad mostly in black and moving with her usual relaxed gait. Buffy leans against the building next to the door to Willy’s, watching her make her way down the street. Where Buffy mostly keeps her slayerness under wraps, Faith wears hers like a badge. She has the walk of a person utterly unafraid and unhurried, slim hips swinging more than they have any natural need to do. Buffy knows she’s probably got assorted weapons stashed around her clothes, but even without them in sight, Faith cuts an imposing figure. A man walking toward her gives her wide berth on the sidewalk.

As she arrives in front of Buffy, she gives her an appraising look. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a dive like this?”

Buffy rolls her eyes. “Wow, how long have you been waiting to use that line?”

“About 45 seconds,” Faith says. She hesitates just a second, then comes closer, palming Buffy’s waist and kissing her hello.

She starts to back off, but Buffy grabs the front of her jacket and pulls her back in, kissing her again. When she releases her, Faith’s lips are twitching into a smile, even as she tries to school her face into a serious look. “So what’s up, the Initiative let some pissed off demon out?”

“Or it escaped,” Buffy says. “Or it was never there. I don’t know anything yet, hence…” She gestures toward the door.

Faith nods, grasping the handle and pulling it open for her.

Willy sees the two of them coming toward the bar and instantly frowns. He inclines his head toward an empty part of the bar, and they walk there. Buffy scopes out the clientele as she goes. Nothing resembles the sketch of the Polgara that Giles showed her.

“The other slayer,” Willy says with an aggrieved sigh as they belly up to the bar, “I heard you were back, thought it was just stories.”

Faith gives him an angelic grin.

“The place looks nice, Willy,” Buffy comments. “You remodeling?”

“I did some work, yeah,” Willy says, puffing up his chest in pride. Then he remembers who he’s talking to. “You’re killing me here. I’m trying to make some changes with my life. Getting away from my old image.”

“You mean as a double dealing snitch,” Buffy says dryly.

Willy winces. “Yeah, that’s it. I’m bringing some class to the joint, you know? Bringing in better clientele. If they see me dealing with you, then I'm just the same old Willy working both sides of the street.”

Buffy sighs. “I'm going to have to punch you, aren't I?”

“Can I do it?” Faith asks, sounding bored.

Cutting his eyes toward her, Willy nods reluctantly. “Just once and it don't have to hurt—ow!”

Faith shakes out her fist as Willy grasps his nose in pain. “We’re looking for a Polgara.”

Glaring at her over his hands, Willy says, “Heard there was one around a few weeks back. Word was she got him,” he nods toward Buffy. “Her or those army guys.”

“What _about_ those army guys?” Buffy asks, leaning a little closer to him. “What do you know? You heard anything about 314?”

She hears the tinkling of beads over by the entrance, and Faith elbows her lightly in the ribs.

Riley’s walking toward them, looking around the bar suspiciously.

“Riley,” Buffy says, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Riley says. “Graham said you called for me a couple times, figured I’d catch up with you on patrol. But I guess you’re less about hunting demons than you are socializing with them.”

“What are you talking about?” Buffy asks, taken aback. From the corner of her eye, she sees Faith straighten up, her hands curling into loose fists.

“You tell me,” Riley says, sounding angry. “That was Hostile 17 I saw you with in Restfield. We’ve been looking for him all over, and you knew where he was this whole time.”

“Are you following me?” Buffy asks, outraged.

“Hey,” Willy says from behind the bar, glancing nervously around at his patrons, who are beginning to take note of this spectacle. “Why don't you all sit down and relax? How about I get you some chicken fingers on the house?”

“How about you shut up?” Riley bites back, barely sparing him a glance.

“Okay,” Faith cuts in, “that’s enough. Why don’t we take this outside?”

“That’s a good idea,” Willy tries, only to be cut off again.

“I said shut up!” Riley says, his voice raising. He ignores Faith, focusing on Willy. “Or maybe you'd like to go back to the lab with me. I'm sure the coats would love to classify a _whatever_ you are.”

In the months that Buffy’s known Riley, he’s never been so much as impolite, let alone whatever this is. She knows he was close to Professor Walsh. Maybe this is the grief affecting him.

“He’s human,” Faith says, sounding unimpressed. “You Initiative boys can’t even pick out a human?”

Buffy shoots her a warning look. “Riley,” she says in a gentler voice, “you’re shaking.”

“So he’s human,” Riley scoffs. “He just harbors demons. Which makes him a good guy, like you? Or her?” He sneers in Faith’s general direction.

Her sympathy for Riley starts to deflate when she sees the way he’s looking at Faith. She’s known about Spike and kept it from him—she can understand him being pissed about that. But she’s not going to stand here and let him project that onto Faith. “Okay,” Buffy says, flatly. “We’re done here.” She moves closer to Faith and takes a step past Riley, toward the exit, before he seizes her arm roughly and yanks her around to face him.

She barely has time to register Faith moving between them before Riley’s doubled over a bar stool, his wrist shoved high against his back. Faith’s free hand grips his hair and pulls back hard. “Put your fucking hands on her again,” she challenges, her voice low and filled with rage.

He hadn’t hurt her, more surprised her than anything. Buffy touches Faith’s arm. “Faith,” she says quietly. “Let him up.”

Faith keeps the hold another second, until Buffy squeezes her arm, then she lets him go roughly, taking a step back.

Behind the bar, Willy looks terrified, whether for his life or his profits, she can’t tell. He makes imploring eyes at the two slayers.

Buffy frowns, then leans down, touching Riley’s shoulder where he’s still bent over. “Riley, come on, we’ll talk about this outside. The Spike thing isn’t what it looks like. I’ll explain everything.”

Riley gets up slowly, but far from looking open to hearing her explanation, he looks sick.

“Riley?” Buffy asks, concerned. He’s trembling harder now.

From beside her, Faith mutters, “He’s on something.”

Buffy can see it now. He’s sweating, his eyes bloodshot, face gone pale. Maybe he’s on something, but that doesn’t sound like Riley.

“What’s happening to me?” Riley asks, turning stricken eyes to her.

“I don’t know,” Buffy says. “But I know where we can go for help.”

XXXXX

In the small kitchen of Giles’s apartment, Faith fills Giles in on the scene from Willy’s. Upstairs in the loft, Buffy’s trying to persuade Riley to lie down and rest. “I’m telling you, the dude is on something,” Faith says, her arms crossed under her breasts. She leans against the back wall, frowning.

Giles inclines his head in agreement. “He did look rather sweaty.”

“He was real jumpy,” Faith says, “and he’s got a gun on him. Things kept on the way they were going, he could’ve hurt someone.”

Rolling up his sleeves, Giles nods. “I agree with you. His behavior sounds erratic. And the fact that the Initiative now knows we’ve been harboring one of their fugitives, to some extent, doesn’t bode well for us.”

She hadn’t thought of that, and it sends Faith’s mood from bad to worse.

Buffy joins them in the kitchen, squeezing past Giles to stand next to Faith. She doesn’t look happy.

“How is he?” Giles asks.

“Not great,” Buffy admits. “He’s freaking out, picking at himself. Whatever’s going on, it’s already getting worse.” She tries to muster up a hopeful look that she casts Giles’s way. “Any luck searching for the Polgara?”

Shaking his head, Giles says, “Willow and Tara tried to do a locator spell, but it wasn’t successful. They should be here soon to regroup.” He makes a concerned face. “This demon we're after… the behavior seems highly atypical for a Polgara. The child that it killed was mutilated. There are no recorded cases of a Polgara ever having done such a thing.”

“So we think, what?” Buffy asks. “The Initiative did something to it?”

Giles shrugs helplessly. “There’s no way to be sure until we locate it. Do you suspect the Initiative’s responsible for what’s happened to Riley?”

Buffy says, “I don't know, but I want to find out.”

“How’re we going to do that?” Faith asks.

“They must have records somewhere. About whatever they did to Riley, about this 314 thing, all of it,” Buffy says. She looks at Giles. “I want to go inside.”

Unable to believe what she’s hearing, Faith asks, “You wanna walk into the Initiative and what, ask them if they misplaced a Polgara demon, and hey, just wondering, are you guys drugging the cadets?”

“I’ll be fine,” Buffy says, obviously trying to sound reassuring.

Faith looks at Giles for help in reasoning with Buffy. He doesn’t look entirely happy with her proposed plan either. “How do you plan to get in to the Initiative?” He asks. “I’m sure their security system's almost impenetrable.”

“And more importantly, how are you going to get back _out_?” Faith cuts in again.

“There’s a back door to the Initiative,” Buffy says. “I’ve used it before.”

Right. Before. When she was in the other world rubbing elbows with the Initiative guys, Faith thinks sourly.

“Plus, I think we’ve got an inside man,” Buffy adds. “I’m going to talk to Graham. He’s an ally in the other dimension, and he cares about Riley. I think he’ll help.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Giles asks. “We don’t know anything about Graham here. He may not be trustworthy.”

“We’ve gotta do something,” Buffy says.

“Do we?” Faith asks. “About the demon, yeah. That’s our territory, but whatever the Initiative’s up to, they’re bigger than we can take on.”

When Buffy looks at her, she’s obviously upset. “He was there for us when we needed him.”

“I know that,” Faith agrees. “Look, I wanna help the guy, I do. But we’re talking about infiltrating a secret government base. That’s the kind of shit that gets you disappeared.”

“Faith’s right,” Giles says. “With Walsh dead under unknown circumstances, and the condition Riley’s in, we have no idea what you’ll be walking into. It’s quite a risk.”

Obviously frustrated now, Buffy bites back, “Then I guess I just won’t get caught.”

The three of them stand in silence for a few moments, before Giles, obviously noticing the tension between them, excuses himself from the kitchen.

Waiting until Giles disappears across the living room toward his bookcase, Buffy turns to face Faith. Her expression softens, but Faith doesn’t. “This is crazy, B.”

Buffy’s shoulder slump a little. “We have to find out what they’re doing,” she says.

She knows Buffy well enough to know that there’s no way she’s going to change her mind. “God damn it,” Faith says, dropping her hands to her sides. “Fine. I’m coming with you then.”

Shaking her head immediately, Buffy says, “No. I need you out here.”

“For what?” Faith demands.

“In case I run into trouble,” Buffy answers, looking at her calmly. “Xander has military experience; he can help. If I don’t come back out, I need you guys to secure my release.”

Flabbergasted, Faith repeats, “Secure your—no, B, _fuck_ that. I’ll go then. Me and Graham.”

Reaching for Faith’s hand, Buffy twists their fingers together and puts her other arm around Faith’s waist. “My plan,” she says softly, pressing her forehead to Faith’s. “Don’t try to steal my glory.”

She thinks about protesting again. It’s on the tip of her tongue to do it, no matter how fruitless it is, but Buffy kisses her. And it’s a distraction—she knows it’s a distraction—but Faith still squeezes Buffy’s hand and lets herself be kissed. “You’re not back here in three hours, I’m coming in after you,” Faith finally says reluctantly.

“I’m counting on it,” Buffy says. With a final press of her lips to Faith’s, she releases her. “Keep Riley here,” she says. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Faith can only watch her wave goodbye to Giles and head out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this chapter put to bed, Hypno officially ties Chutes & Ladders for my longest fic. Next week it'll surpass it. Kind of crazy to me, since this story just came about on a whim. :) In any case, we are delving slightly into the Initiative here, but we won't be staying too long... so if you're not an Initiative fan, hang in there. There is a method to my madness, and I promise next chapter is verrrrry heavy on the fuffy goodness. :D Comments always welcome and appreciated!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to CharcoalTeeth for advance reading and continuing patience with my waffling about. :)

_“You’re not back here in three hours, I’m coming in after you,” Faith finally says reluctantly._

_“I’m counting on it,” Buffy says. With a final press of her lips to Faith’s, she releases her. “Keep Riley here,” she says. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”_

_Faith can only watch her wave goodbye to Giles and head out the door._

Chapter Twenty

It’s been almost two hours since Buffy called to check in, letting them know that Graham was willing to bring her into the Initiative. Two hours Faith’s spent prowling around Giles’s apartment fighting the urge to hit something. Giles had finally suggested she might want to get some air. She’s sitting on the fountain in the courtyard, feet spread wide, elbows on her knees, watching the stairs for any signs of a tiny blond making her way back. Inside, the rest of the gang is working on their extraction plan, in case they end up needing it. Well, most of them are. Anya’s contributions are limited to expressing fear that Xander’s going to get killed on this rescue operation. Ordinarily, Faith could feel a little sympathy for her position. Anya’s got exactly one person in the world who can put up with her and seems to enjoy her company. If something happens to him, she’s got nothing. Faith gets that. But since the only reason they’d need to put this plan into play is to get _Faith’s_ person back, she’s finding it hard to be sympathetic.

From the direction of Giles’s apartment, Faith hears raised voices. She rolls her eyes as she gets up, expecting to be walking back into an argument between Xander and Anya. Instead, as she gets closer to the door, she hears Willow’s voice.

“Riley,” Willow pleads, “stop! Listen to me for a second.”

Faith moves faster.

“Move away from the door,” she hears Riley say, just as she’s reaching for the knob.

“No,” Willow insists.

Faith opens the door just in time to see Riley shove Willow away from him, sending her sprawling to the ground. As Xander and Tara rush toward her, Faith grabs a handful of Riley’s shirt and drags him out the door, tossing him into the courtyard easily. “Really making a habit of pushing women around, huh?” She asks, as he rolls over, pulling himself back to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Riley says, glancing left toward the stairs out of the courtyard. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, but I have to go. Buffy shouldn’t be at the Initiative.”

“You’re welcome to try it,” Faith says, as he shifts his weight, readying himself to dart for the stairs. “But you already know I can put you down.”

“Why do you care if I go?”

“I only care if you get Buffy killed by running in there half cocked and blowing her cover,” Faith says, walking casually between him and the way out. “She’s trying to find out what Walsh did to you. She’s trying to help you.”

Riley’s face transforms into a mask of anger. “Maggie didn’t do anything to me! All she ever did was try to help people!”

He’s still sweating, a sickly pallor on his face. Faith holds her hands up in the universal symbol for peace. “Hey,” she says calmly, “I didn’t know the lady. I’m just telling you what it looks like.”

“What it looks like?” Riley repeats angrily. “This all started when you got here.”

“Me?” Faith says, taken aback. “I’ve got nothing to do with any of this.”

“Everything was fine before you,” Riley says. “Buffy and me—we were fine. Now she’s protecting demons?” He takes a step toward her. “That’s more your M.O., right, Faith?”

Faith cocks her head, watching him take another step forward, outwardly unmoved. Internally though, anger churns in her stomach.

“Oh yeah,” Riley says, “I heard all about it. How you tried to help the Mayor ascend. How you attacked people, hurt them. How Buffy had to put you down like a rabid animal.”

His words hit home, but Faith doesn’t let him see that. She smiles, all teeth. “All true, and then some,” she agrees pleasantly. “But hey, look at me now, listening to you run your mouth and not breaking your face. I guess I’m reformed!”

Riley squints at her. He’s close to her now, close enough that she can see his fingers trembling. “You did something to her.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Faith says. Her voice is flat, but her hands are practically itching to form fists. Who the hell is this guy to accuse her of doing anything?

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Riley demands, and she can hear his pulse becoming increasingly erratic.

“So because she didn’t want you, I must have done something to her,” Faith repeats, pretending to be thinking about it. “Ever occurred to you that you’re just not the hot shit you think you are?”

Moving quicker than she would have expected, Riley crosses the remaining space between them. He tries to use his size to push her backward, but Faith skips out of the way, shoving his back lightly so he stumbles.

Recovering quickly, Riley comes at her again, saying, “Tell me what you did to her!”

This time he seizes her shirt and drags her off balance. Faith recovers quickly, slamming the side of her hand against the inside of his elbow. Crying out, Riley releases her shirt, and Faith kicks him back.

“I didn’t do anything,” she says through gritted teeth, “and I _don’t_ want to hurt you. Stay down.”

“You did!” Riley insists. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. You did something to Buffy, to all of them,” he says, gesturing at Giles’s apartment, where Willow and Xander are watching from inside the window, both looking concerned. “Why else would they just welcome you back in? Why would Buffy want—” He cuts himself off, glaring at her.

“Me?” Faith finishes for him. It’s a question she’s asked herself, but she’ll be damned if she’s gonna let this asshole think he’s got the right to ask it. He doesn’t know her. He doesn’t even know Buffy, not really. Not like Faith does. “Guess she sees something you don’t,” she says. “I don’t have to explain shit to you.” She watches impassively as he straightens up to his feet again. “You got a problem seeing Buffy with a chick? Is that it? Mr. Nice Guy got a problem with the gays?”

“No,” Riley says immediately, his face showing disgust. “I’ve got a problem with _you_. You don’t deserve her.”

She’s moving forward before she catches herself, jaw clenched tight, fingernails digging into her palms. Faith stops, forcing herself to take a deep breath. The two of them glare at each other for a second before Faith asks, “And let me guess—you do?” She sneers. “She’s not some prize you can win for being a good little solider.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Riley says, starting to edge to his left.

Faith sees it and matches him. “Sure it is,” she says. “You’re a nice guy. Good grades, God and country first, and all that bullshit. You should get the girl, right? Makes sense.” She nods in faux sympathy. “Only the girl is right where she wants to be. With me. Not because I did something to her. Because she wants to be. And I’m not going to let you put her in danger because you’re tweaked out of your mind.”

He comes straight for her again. She sure hopes this guy’s combat skills are better than this when he’s not coming down from something, because so far she’s not impressed. Again, he tries to use brute force to get by her.

“When are you going to get this?” Faith asks through gritted teeth, as he slams into her. “I’m stronger than you.”

Refusing to be pushed back, Riley digs his hands into her shoulders like claws. Faith ducks under his arm, kicking his knee. As he stumbles, she kicks again, this time connecting with his chest and sending him sliding across the courtyard on his ass.

“What the hell?” She hears from behind her.

Faith turns, fists up but loose, to see Graham and Buffy standing at the top of the stairs into the courtyard. She ignores Graham, although he was the one to speak, eyes immediately skipping to Buffy. She’s so small next to Graham that Faith forgets for a second that she’s practically indestructible, looking her over for any signs of injuries. She looks unscathed, but seems to be doing the same to Faith.

As they reach Faith, Graham continues past her, stooping beside Riley. Buffy looks at Faith questioningly.

“He wanted to go to the Initiative,” Faith explains, and Buffy frowns. “We had a little difference of opinion, especially when his plan involved knocking Red out of the way.”

Buffy turns to look at Riley, now standing on his own two feet, one hand tucked against his ribs where Faith’s foot landed a few seconds ago. “It was an accident,” he says beseechingly. “I didn’t mean to—you know I wouldn’t hurt Willow.”

Her mouth a thin line, Buffy nods.

“I should take him in,” Graham says, hovering beside Riley as though he might drop at any moment. “Get him treatment.”

“Treatment?” Riley asks. “For what?”

Graham looks like he wishes he didn’t have to tell Riley the answer, but he says, “They were drugging us, man. All this time. It was in our food.”

Shocked, Riley asks, “What? Why?”

“Performance enhancement,” Graham says. “That’s what Angleman said anyway.” He looks down. “He’s dead, too.”

Swaying on his feet, Riley struggles to take this all in. “How?”

“I’ll explain everything,” Graham says gently, “on the way back.”

Riley looks between Buffy and Graham, grief so raw in his face that Faith looks away.

“Buffy,” Riley says, as Graham puts an arm behind him and starts gently directing him toward the exit.

“Go with Graham,” Buffy says, her voice kind. “I’ll check on you soon.” She looks at Graham. “You’ll let me know how he is?”

Graham nods. “I will,” he says. He pauses as they pass Buffy and Faith. “And thanks, for letting me know where he was.”

“Take care of him,” Buffy says, her face softening a little as she looks at Riley.

“I will,” Graham agrees. He nudges Riley to start moving again.

Riley hesitates a moment, looking from Buffy to Faith, then he drops his gaze to the ground and lets himself be guided forward.

After Graham gets Riley up the stairs and out of sight, Buffy turns to face Faith. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Faith says.

“And Will?”

“I’m not sure,” Faith says. “I’ve been out here trying to keep him from running.”

Buffy nods. “Let’s go in; I’ll fill everyone in.”

“Wait,” Faith says, reaching for her hand. “What about you? Are _you_ okay?”

Squeezing her hand, Buffy musters up a small smile. “Short term? I’m good. Long term though, we’ve got a problem, courtesy of the Initiative and 314. Turns out 314 is the room where they kept the demon hybrid they were building.”

Faith blinks, not entirely surprised. “You got a look at it?”

“I did,” Buffy confirms. “Big, ugly, super strong. He killed Angleman and nearly Forrest, with his fancy upgraded Polgara arm.”

Ah. Well, that explains the weird behavior Giles mentioned. “How come it’s never just a secret room full of puppies?” Faith asks, starting to walk toward Giles’s door with Buffy’s hand in hers.

“Maybe some day,” Buffy says wistfully.

XXXXX

After the night they’ve already had, nobody would blame them for skipping patrol, but they go anyway. The universe punishes them for their diligence by having them stumble into a full vamp nest. It’s more than Buffy could have taken on her own, but with Faith, it’s easy. It’s almost therapeutic in a way, feeling her stake slide into a vampire, watching it go _poof_. No one tossing her easily into walls, no one stabbing military doctors in front of her.

This is the most action they’ve seen on patrol since Faith’s been back, and Buffy had forgotten what Faith looks like in full slayer mode. Where Buffy relies on speed and agility, Faith focuses on strength and stamina. Not that she isn’t quick, she is. She’s fast enough that the vampires trip over themselves trying to keep up with her as she gracefully darts between them, long hair streaming behind her. She just ducks and dodges far less than Buffy does. She seems to almost relish the look of dawning fear in a vamp’s face when she lets it get in a hard hit and then smiles through bruised lips, hitting back twice as hard. You’d never know by looking at her that she was in a coma for months. Faith’s definitely back at full strength.

Some things _have_ changed though. Buffy remembers the single-mindedness of Faith’s slaying technique, the way she’d get so into beating the pulp out of a vamp that she’d fail to notice two of his buddies getting the upper hand against Buffy. Faith’s still clearly enjoying herself, wide grin on her face as she twirls and kicks, but she doesn’t allow the action to move her more than a few yards from Buffy’s side. When Buffy looks up from dusting a vamp, she finds Faith tossing another over her shoulder and taking a lightening quick glance in Buffy’s direction. Checking in. Staying alert in case Buffy needs her.

When the vamps are all dust beneath their feet, Buffy feels good, reset. Her body is humming, both from the slaying and from Faith’s presence next to her. Faith dusts her hands off, pocketing her stake, and leans in to inspect Buffy. “Gonna have a bruise here,” she says, her thumb gently probing along Buffy’s cheekbone.

Buffy gestures to the split lip Faith’s sporting. “You took a little damage, too.”

Running her tongue over her lip, Faith winces. “Guess I did.” She kisses Buffy anyway, gently.

“Walk me home?” Buffy asks, leaning happily into Faith’s touch.

Instead of replying, Faith kisses her again. Then she says, “Think I’m gonna go home tonight.”

That pulls Buffy from her pleasant post-slay mood. She leans back to look at Faith more clearly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Faith says.

“Oh,” Buffy says, waiting for further explanation. When one isn’t forthcoming, she asks, “Are you upset with me about something?”

“No,” Faith says, reaching for her waist and pulling her in closer. “Nothing like that.”

“Then what’s up?”

Faith licks her lips, shrugging half-heartedly.

“What?” Buffy probes.

“Just…” Faith sighs. “We kicked some major ass tonight.” She looks at Buffy’s mouth, then meets her eyes, like she’s struggling to say whatever she’s thinking. “I like staying with you, you know that…”

“But?”

“But,” Faith says, looking down again, “if I go with you, we’ll get in bed, and you’ll be wearing some cute little panties, and I’ll wanna touch you, and,” Faith’s hands tighten on Buffy’s hips, “I don’t wanna stop tonight. I can’t.”

It finally clicks in Buffy’s head, and her face flushes. They just took out seven vamps, after a full night of Initiative-related stress. Of course Faith needs to release the tension.

Faith looks a little embarrassed, but she kisses Buffy’s cheek softly. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“No,” Buffy says.

Confused, Faith repeats, “No?”

Buffy shakes her head. “Come home with me.”

“B,” Faith says, looking torn, “I would, but—”

“Faith,” Buffy cuts her off, sliding her hands up Faith’s arms to her shoulders, “ _Come home with me_.” This time she says it pointedly, meeting Faith’s eyes.

Faith blinks, her lips parting, then closing again. She nods.

“Unless you think we should wait?” Buffy offers, toying with the ends of Faith’s hair.

“No,” Faith says quickly. “I mean, if you want to, we can, that’s cool,” she adds, “but if you’re asking me, then no.” She looks like she confused herself somewhere along the way. “No to waiting. Yes to going with you,” she clarifies.

Amused, Buffy grins at her. “Okay,” she agrees, releasing Faith so they can start heading for the exit. They walk close together, not speaking. When they pass through the gate to the street, Faith reaches for her hand.

Sunnydale may be dark, but it never sleeps, not really. They both scan the empty streets as they make their way to the U, footsteps echoing off closed buildings. The space between them brims with silent potential, as hyper saturated as the air before a storm. Buffy’s only paying a very surface amount of attention to their surroundings. Most of her awareness has narrowed to their joined hands. Faith’s thumb ghosting across her knuckles sends goose bumps up her arm to the side of her neck.

Buffy steals a glance at her in the dark. Color sits high in Faith’s cheeks, and her teeth worry her cut lip unconsciously. When she notices Buffy looking at her, the dimple in her cheek reveals itself. The anticipation of what they’re going to do sits in Buffy’s stomach, warm and flickering, making her heart beat a little too quickly. Waiting was her idea, and she still thinks it was a good one, but _God_ , has it been hard. Faith has somehow seemed to grow more impossibly attractive with every passing day, and at this point, Buffy’s not even sure they’ll make it to real sex. She might just spontaneously combust from seeing Faith fully naked again. The last time that happened was the day of her birthday, and it’s been weeks since then. Weeks of kissing Faith, dark hair spilling through her hands, of soft skin pressed against hers and hands only wandering so far before she manages to stop herself.

And in between those moments, there’s been something else developing. Almost every part of her life requires her to be strong. Slaying. Saving the world. Passing classes even though she’s chronically sleep deprived and probably won’t live long enough to have whatever career this degree would help her with. She’s a fighter, a protector, but she doesn’t have to be that with Faith. With Faith she feels like more like _Buffy_ than she has since before she became the slayer.

She sees Faith, too. How sweet she is when she doesn’t have to keep up that Teflon façade she uses for other people. The gentle way she brushes Buffy’s hair back before kissing her goodnight. The way she reaches for Buffy as soon as she wakes up. Buffy comes home on Friday nights to find Faith and her mom cooking dinner, Joyce gasping from laughing too hard at some ridiculously cheesy joke Faith came up with. They have Scooby movie night with all the significant others, everybody a little on edge but trying to make it work, and Faith sits next to Tara, talking to her when she gets quiet. Faith sucks it up through community service, earning herself words of praise from the lady running the program, even if it does make Faith’s ears go pink. In every way possible, Faith is trying her hardest to fit in here, and Buffy knows at least some of it is for her.

All these little moments stack up together, and when Buffy thinks of it all, her heart beats a little too hard. She knows exactly what’s happening between them, where this is leading, where it’s probably always been leading since the first night she went to sleep and woke up in Faith’s mind. She won’t say it out loud yet. Faith’s too important to let any part of this be rushed. But there _are_ steps she thinks they’re ready for. Case in point: the two of them cutting across UC Sunnydale’s campus, walking faster than is strictly necessary by unspoken agreement.

When they arrive at the dorm, Buffy leads the way in, stopping at the security desk. She shows her ID, then pushes the visitors’ log toward Faith. Freeing her hand from Buffy’s, Faith signs in. Behind the desk, the security guard is watching late night reruns, not the least bit concerned about the two of them. He absently wishes them a good night.

The elevator ride is mercifully short, and Buffy’s unlocking the door to her and Willow’s room in under two minutes. She peeks in, noting Willow’s empty bed with gratitude. Pushing the door all the way open, she motions Faith inside. Faith turns on the lamp as Buffy locks the door behind them. She tosses her keys on her desk while she kicks off her boots. Across the room, Faith does likewise, then strips her jacket off and comes to the desk to drape it over Buffy’s chair.

Pushing her hair behind her ears, Faith says, “I feel like I shouldn’t have said I was gonna go home.”

“Huh?” Buffy asks, confused, mid way through removing her own jacket.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this to get me to stay,” Faith clarifies, frowning.

Buffy lays her jacket on top of Faith’s. “I don’t,” she says firmly, stepping into the small space between them. Grasping Faith’s hips, she pulls them snugly against hers. “I want you.”

Apparently satisfied with Buffy’s response, Faith cups her face in both hands and kisses her. Buffy’s hands slip onto her back, fingertips digging into strong muscle. Usually after patrol, it takes them mere seconds to fall onto Buffy’s bed together, limbs tangled, hands sliding under clothes. Tonight they know where this is headed, but neither of them seems in a hurry to get there. Buffy lets Faith sets the pace, and Faith seems determined that the pace should be slow. She takes her time kissing Buffy’s mouth, then her neck, one hand gathering Buffy’s long hair to the side to leave herself room.

Buffy’s half focused on the sensation of Faith’s tongue and teeth against her skin, half on how badly she wants to be touching more of Faith. She reaches for the bottom of Faith’s shirt, pausing to ask, “Can I…?”

Faith makes an affirmative sound against her neck, so Buffy dips both hands under the fabric, letting her fingertips drag over warm, soft skin. This isn’t unfamiliar territory, but she moves slowly here, like she always does. Long, soft strokes of her hands up Faith’s sides, no fast movements, no breaking contact in a way that might startle her. Buffy doesn’t mind; she’s not particularly anxious to let her hands leave Faith’s skin anyway.

When Faith finds herself impeded by Buffy’s shirt, she pulls back long enough to meet Buffy’s lips again, then she’s pulling the shirt up and over her head. She does likewise with her own, grinning when Buffy’s eye line immediately plummets to her cleavage.

Buffy shoves her hip lightly. “Shut up,” she says.

“Make me,” Faith challenges.

Reaching one hand behind her back, Buffy unhooks her bra and shrugs it off.

“Effective technique,” Faith admits, licking her lips.

“Thought you’d say that.” Buffy touches her wrist, holding her in place as she steps around her to face Faith’s back. Her free hand makes quick work of Faith’s bra, and she gathers her hair to one side, tucking it over her shoulder. Her lips press softly against the nape of Faith’s neck.

Faith relaxes against her, letting her bra slide down her arms and drop to the floor. Buffy’s hands slip around her waist slowly, carefully, before moving up and cupping Faith’s breasts. She punctuates this with a soft bite over Faith’s shoulder blade.

Exhaling noisily, Faith reaches back and grips Buffy’s thigh through her jeans. Buffy spends several more moments kissing her back, until Faith’s breathing is ragged. She makes a mental note to remember that Faith likes this for next time, then Faith squirms free, turning back to face her.

This time Faith’s less gentle when she reaches for her. One hand threads in Buffy’s hair as she kisses her hard, teeth and tongue probing at her bottom lip. She unbuttons Buffy’s jeans with her other hand, shoving the zipper down and trying to wiggle her hand under the tight material. She breaks the kiss with a displeased sound, looking down at Buffy’s jeans. “Is this your favorite pair again?”

“Yup.”

Sliding her thumbs under the loosened waistband, Faith presses them into Buffy’s hips and says, “I’m gonna buy you some baggy pants.”

“Then you wouldn’t be able to check out my ass on patrol.”

“But I’d be able to get you naked _after_ patrol.”

Buffy rolls her eyes and strips her jeans off, socks with them, then reaches for her underwear.

Faith says, “Leave ‘em.” She pulls Buffy against her again, both hands wandering onto her ass. “I want to take these off myself,” she says, plucking at the waistband of Buffy’s panties. She leaves one hand there, the other reaching between them to palm Buffy’s breast.

This doesn’t leave a lot of space for Buffy to undo Faith’s pants, but she manages, even as Faith resumes kissing her neck, both hands roaming around Buffy’s body. Faith allows her to push her pants and underwear down her thighs, stepping on the fabric pooling at her feet to drag her clothes the rest of the way down. The feel of Faith, warm, naked, and pressed against her from head to toe, makes Buffy want to move her back to the bed, but she tells herself to let Faith take the lead this time.

It doesn’t take long before Faith’s maneuvering her back, giving Buffy space to lie down on the bed. She gets situated, her knees up and parted so there’s room for Faith between them, and takes advantage of this opportunity to let her eyes slide over all the newly revealed skin. There isn’t a part of Faith’s body that Buffy doesn’t find fascinating. There are the obvious draws—Faith has incredible tits and the cutest little nipples that Buffy can’t wait to get her hands and her mouth on—but it’s the little details that Buffy gets stuck on. The outline of her quads flexing as she climbs onto the bed. The slight flare of her hips. The escaping strands of hair that evade her attempts to push them back, curling against the side of her neck. The fading scars telling the story of how they got here—one a reminder of how hard they fought to tear each other apart, the other a reminder that Faith survived that, and that she let Buffy help put her back together.

Distributing her weight across her hands and knees, Faith balances between Buffy’s legs, leaning down to kiss her. Buffy reaches for her, wanting to pull her down flush against her body, but Faith resists her attempts. Instead, she takes her time, her hair trailing over Buffy’s skin as she finds new places to lick and kiss. She starts with Buffy’s shoulders, moving over her collarbone and into the space between her breasts. She gives each of Buffy’s breasts individual attention, applying the barest hint of teeth to her nipples. When Buffy’s hips jump in response, Faith smiles against her skin and moves on. Strong hands frame her waist, fingertips pressing red marks into her skin while Faith’s lips ghost across her stomach.

Buffy squirms in her hold, trying to reach her arms to drag her upward, but Faith ignores her. Raising herself onto her knees, Faith kisses the inside of Buffy’s bent knee. She touches the outside of Buffy’s thighs, slowly stroking the length of them before stopping with her thumbs just barely brushing the damp fabric of Buffy’s panties.

Buffy’s breathing too quickly, her body hot and cold at once, and she tenses her hips, prepared to lift them so Faith can pull off her last article of clothing. But Faith stops there a moment. Her face is flushed pink, dark hair rumpled around her shoulders as she looks down at Buffy. Their eyes meet, and Faith’s lips curls into that little half smile that always makes Buffy’s heart squeeze in her chest. Then Faith drops her gaze as she grasps the sides of Buffy’s underwear and tugs them downward. Now, Buffy lifts her hips, pulling her knee toward her chest so Faith can slide her panties off first one foot then the other.

Her face feels hot when Faith pauses for a few seconds, looking between her legs while she runs her hands up and down Buffy’s thighs again. Then Faith’s touching her, and her eyes flicker shut for a second when she feels how wet Buffy is. Her touch is soft and tentative, but Buffy’s toes curl pleasantly all the same, because this is _Faith_ touching her finally, and that feels amazing on its own.

She reaches for Faith’s free arm, pulling her upward. Shifting herself, Faith settles half on top of Buffy, leaving her fingers in place.

Buffy’s wet and achy, and she tries to be patient, tries to let Faith do this her way. Faith strokes up and down her slit, not quite giving her the friction she wants, but she’s not greedy. Just having Faith touching her has her over the moon. She’s just probably going to actually die if Faith doesn’t touch her clit soon. So she reaches down, putting her hand over Faith’s and moving it where she wants it. “Here,” she says, her voice shaking.

Not seeming to mind the instruction, Faith begins circling Buffy’s clit.

Buffy makes a pleased noise and wraps her arm around Faith. She threads her fingers into Faith’s hair, bringing their mouths back together. Her free hand reaches between them, finding Faith’s nipple and playing with it.

Faith presses her chest eagerly against Buffy’s hand for more, her fingers spinning faster around Buffy’s clit.

Buffy’s legs start to tremble as tingling builds up in her belly. Every sweep of Faith’s fingers makes that feeling grow. She lets her head loll back, concentrating only on the way Faith’s making her feel.

When her fingers dig into Faith’s back, Faith groans quietly. Her hips press against the outside of Buffy’s thigh and her lips find Buffy’s chest, kissing her heated skin.

Tension builds in Buffy’s body, her hips straining toward Faith’s hand. Faith redoubles her efforts, applying a little more pressure. Her mouth finds Buffy’s nipple, sucking lightly. One leg comes over Buffy’s to hold it still, and Buffy can feel how hot and wet Faith’s pussy is against her leg. “Oh, God,” she whimpers, her eyes squeezing shut in concentration.

Faith presses herself harder against Buffy’s leg, moaning around the nipple still in her mouth.

Buffy loses all awareness of how hard she’s gripping Faith as she starts to shake harder. Faith bites down gently, and then Buffy’s coming, her legs clamping closed around Faith’s hand.

It takes a long minute until the sound of blood rushing in her ears fades, and she comes back to earth. She winces, loosening her hold on Faith slightly. Far from put out, Faith kisses her chest again gently and lays her head over Buffy’s pounding heart. 

When she feels like she can move again, Buffy parts her legs enough for Faith to remove her hand. She strokes Faith’s hair away from her flushed face.

Looking up, Faith gives her a tentative smile. “Guessing that was okay,” she says.

“Better than okay,” Buffy says, kissing her. Her heartbeat is slowly coming back to normal, and she closes her eyes, enjoying the tingly goodness in all her muscles.

“Just checking,” Faith says, sounding pleased as she puts her head back down. “Not like I’m a pro.”

Buffy snorts, thinking she’s joking. When Faith doesn’t laugh, she opens her eyes again. “Oh,” she says, surprised. “You never…?”

Faith shrugs. “Not with a woman, no.”

Some tiny part of her immediately warms with a possessive kind of pleasure. She’s the first woman Faith’s ever slept with. The only. On the other hand, she feels a little guilty, wondering if she should have done something differently. “I didn’t realize,” she says. “Was that okay for you? I mean… you liked it, right?”

Leaning back in her arm, Faith meets her eyes. “I liked it,” she says, looking a little incredulous at the question.

“Just making sure,” Buffy says sheepishly.

Wiggling up the bed so she’s lying beside Buffy, Faith turns on her side and takes Buffy’s hand. Guiding it across her stomach, she positions it between her legs. “Does that feel like I didn’t like what I was doing?” She asks, her voice faltering slightly when Buffy’s fingers slip between her labia.

Faith feels just as good as Buffy remembers, slick and soft in her hand. Buffy’s stomach clenches, and she squeezes her legs together. She’s suddenly full of energy again. She rolls toward Faith, but Faith catches her shoulder, stopping her forward momentum. “Can I be on top?” She asks.

“Yeah, of course.” Buffy turns onto her back, pulling her hand away so Faith can move easier.

Straddling Buffy’s hips, Faith sits down on top of her.

Buffy doesn’t mean to roll her hips, but she can’t help herself.

Smirking devilishly, Faith grinds back against her.

That feels incredible, and Buffy wants to grab Faith’s hips and do it some more, but she tells herself to focus. She’s supposed to be concentrating on making Faith feel good now, not herself. But Faith doesn’t look entirely pleased with the new position.

Running her palms up Faith’s thighs, Buffy says, “You’re kind of far away.” She can touch Faith like this, but they can’t kiss.

Nodding, Faith shifts, leaning down so she’s hovering over Buffy. That’s better. With one hand, Buffy reaches between them. Both of their bodies are wet where Faith’s sitting on top of her. Twisting her wrist, Buffy manages to get her hand back into position. She strokes Faith’s slit lightly, pleased when Faith exhales noisily.

Her free hand threads into Faith’s hair, kissing her, as her fingers find Faith’s clit and start to rub lightly up and down.

Knees tightening around Buffy’s hips, Faith makes an approving sound. Her hands are on either side of Buffy’s head, and she shifts one, grabbing Buffy’s shoulder and squeezing.

This position is hell on Buffy’s forearm, but she ignores the discomfort, focusing on keeping her touch consistent. Faith’s wetter still, rocking herself against Buffy’s hand.

Pulling Faith’s hair to one side, Buffy moves her mouth to Faith’s neck, licking and sucking lightly on the flushed skin she finds there. She can feel Faith’s thighs periodically tensing against her, and Faith grinds harder against her hand, her breathing ragged.

Faith’s otherwise quiet, and her fingers dig into Buffy’s shoulder. “B,” she says after another minute, sounding frustrated.

“You want me to stop?” Buffy asks, combing her fingers gently through Faith’s hair. Her voice is soft, and she hopes doesn’t sound as disappointed as she feels.

“I don’t know,” Faith says, her face pressed to Buffy’s shoulder. “I’m just… I can’t get…”

“Okay,” Buffy says, when she doesn’t clarify. “How about this—can you sit up?”

Obediently, Faith sits up, lifting her weight from Buffy’s pelvis as Buffy moves into a sitting position and pulls herself back toward the headboard. “Okay,” Buffy says, “come back.”

Faith comes closer, sitting in her lap so they’re facing each other, and Buffy wraps her arms around her back, pulling them snugly together. Consciously slowing things down, she runs soothing hands up and down Faith’s back. Faith gradually relaxes against her, hugging Buffy’s shoulders. Keeping her touch light, Buffy tries to replicate the way Faith touched her: soft, attentive, like there was nothing else she’d rather be doing. She touches her thighs and her tucked under calves, strokes her palms up Faith’s sides, fingertips brushing the sides of her breasts, threads her fingers into Faith’s hair and smoothes it behind her shoulders, brushing it down her back. Letting one hand come to rest firmly on Faith’s lower back, she brings her free hand to her neck, thumb gliding gently over her soft skin. Buffy kisses her shoulder, then the side of her neck, her mouth slow and soft as it moves over Faith’s skin.

Faith’s fingers dig into Buffy’s shoulders, then she turns her head, meeting Buffy’s lips. It’s slow at first, Faith’s tongue light against Buffy’s lower lip, then Faith shifts in her lap, pulling Buffy’s lip between her teeth.

Buffy’s hand leaves her neck, traveling down her side until it’s sitting on Faith’s thigh. “You comfortable like this?” Buffy asks, her voice half lost against Faith’s mouth.

“Uh huh,” Faith agrees, spreading her legs a little more.

Not accepting that invitation immediately, Buffy runs her fingertips lightly up and down Faith’s thigh a few times as they kiss. Faith’s heart is pounding audibly, her skin warm and pink across her chest and neck. The muscle in her thigh is tensed and solid under absurdly soft skin. Buffy moves her fingers higher, just brushing the warm wetness coating the inside of Faith’s legs.

Faith’s hips jump, pressing forward toward her fingers, and Faith says, _“Please,”_ in a low voice.

Without further hesitation, Buffy cups her, her fingertips parting Faith’s lips and gliding across the skin in between. She greets Faith’s clit first, stopping to circle it lightly a few times before she moves on. She starts to push two fingers carefully inside Faith, only for Faith to press herself hard against Buffy’s hand, enveloping her fingers fully.

Buffy takes the hint, withdrawing and pushing in again. She brings her other hand from the small of Faith’s back, up beneath her hair, so she’s supporting her back as she begins to pump her fingers in and out.

Faith rocks with her movements, her hands moving across Buffy’s shoulders, her back, into her hair.

Dropping her shoulder, Buffy changes the angle of her fingers slightly, managing to get her thumb over Faith’s clit. She can’t quite circle—Faith’s moving too much for that—but it slips over her clit with each thrust. Her mouth finds Faith’s neck again, kissing and sucking at the skin below her ear.

Faith pants against Buffy’s hair, her nails biting into Buffy’s shoulders where she’s anchoring herself.

Her pussy squeezes around Buffy’s fingers, which Buffy takes as a promising sign. She sucks harder on Faith’s neck, letting her teeth dig in a little, and Faith whimpers.

Butterflies flutter in Buffy’s stomach at that, and she makes it her mission to elicit that sound from Faith again. She swirls her tongue over the spot she just bit, driving her fingers particularly hard into Faith.

Faith grips her harder, moaning. She’s trembling, not just her legs, but her hands too. Her hair is in both their faces until Faith leans back, changing the angle of Buffy’s fingers just a little bit.

Buffy leans with her, her lips moving to Faith’s collarbones, then the tops of her breasts. Hands tangling in Buffy’s hair, Faith makes a strangled sound. She’s rocking harder into Buffy’s hand, doing most of the thrusting for her, so Buffy switches her focus, rotating her thumb where it’s pressed against Faith’s swollen clit.

Her name slips from Faith’s mouth, sounding almost tortured, and Buffy smiles against her sweat dampened skin, doing her best to keep up with the pace Faith is setting.

Faith’s quivering now, and she sits back up abruptly, hugging Buffy to her hard.

Buffy tightens her hold around Faith’s back, kissing her jaw. Around her fingers, she can feel Faith’s muscles starting to tighten, and she’s wetter still, coating Buffy’s hand completely.

“Buffy,” Faith whispers again, her voice shaking almost as much as the rest of her.

“I got you, baby,” Buffy says, and Faith grinds down against her hand before she jerks, once, then again, groaning quietly. Buffy slows her motions, not stopping completely until Faith pulls her hips back slightly.

Leaving her hand where it is, Buffy strokes her back lightly, her head resting on Faith’s shoulder, turned in toward her neck.

Faith’s slumped against her, her chest heaving against Buffy’s. After a minute, she runs her hand down Buffy’s arm, tugging at her wrist.

Buffy takes the hint, pulling her hand free slowly.

Gingerly raising herself up, Faith swings her leg over Buffy’s lap, collapsing next to her. She’s reaching for Buffy before she even has a chance to lie down. As soon as she’s situated, Buffy wraps both arms around Faith, sighing happily at all the warm naked skin pressed against hers.

Faith makes what Buffy thinks is a happy noise, still catching her breath. Buffy sinks slowly into a state of basking, zoning out for a few minutes until Faith asks, “Not gonna ask me if I liked that, huh?”

Surprised, Buffy snorts against her hair. “Okay, I’ll bite,” she says. “You liked that, right?”

Faith leans back in her arm, looking up into Buffy’s face. “I loved that,” she says, a soft smile reaching her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Pretty sure thanks aren’t traditional in this situation,” Buffy says, quirking a teasing eyebrow at her.

“Yeah,” Faith agrees, “but you kind of went above and beyond. People don’t usually try that hard.”

That gives Buffy pause, and it makes her heart hurt a little. “Those people sound stupid,” she says lightly.

Faith makes a noncommittal noise, closing her eyes and snuggling into Buffy’s side again. Buffy thinks about leaving it there. Faith’s all comfy and relaxed against her; why spoil the coziness by saying something serious? She mulls it over a few more minutes, then decides she can’t let it go. “It’s not a chore, you know? Touching you? Anything you want me to do, whatever you need, I wanna do,” she says quietly, stroking Faith’s back. “Besides, you’re my girl, right? It’s kind of my job now to make you feel good. And you know how seriously I take my sacred duties.”

Her joke has the intended effect, and Faith snickers. “I mean you did get killed doing your sacred duty that one time. Not sure this is the best analogy.”

“Nah,” Buffy says breezily, “that just illustrates my commitment to the craft.”

“Mhmm,” Faith says. “Well, I appreciate your commitment to _this_ craft.” She kisses Buffy’s neck softly.

Satisfied she’s made her point, Buffy turns her attention to drawing abstract patterns on Faith’s skin with her fingertips.

Faith continues her slow ministrations against Buffy’s neck, eventually meandering lower. “B?” She says in a thoughtful voice, her mouth just above Buffy’s nipple.

“Hmm?” Buffy says back.

A warm tongue flicks over her nipple, and Buffy’s arm tightens around Faith reflexively. “Feel like I could use a little more practice,” Faith says. “You know, in the interests of perfecting the craft.” She goes back to Buffy’s nipple, sucking it lightly this time.

“Mmm,” Buffy says, forgetting words for a second before she recovers. “Yeah, I think we could do that. Practice makes perfect and all that.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Faith says, switching her attention to the opposite nipple.

Buffy starts to respond, but then Faith’s hand comes over her hip, sliding easily between Buffy’s legs. She forgets how words work again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment we've all been waiting for... :p Hope you enjoyed! Comments always welcome and appreciated.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to CharcoalTeeth for beta'ing stuff. :D

_“Feel like I could use a little more practice,” Faith says. “You know, in the interests of perfecting the craft.” She goes back to Buffy’s nipple, sucking it lightly this time._

_“Mmm,” Buffy says, forgetting words for a second before she recovers. “Yeah, I think we could do that. Practice makes perfect and all that.”_

_“Exactly what I was thinking,” Faith says, switching her attention to the opposite nipple._

_Buffy starts to respond, but then Faith’s hand comes over her hip, sliding easily between Buffy’s legs. She forgets how words work again._

Chapter Twenty-One

A full moon glows resolutely overhead as they spill out of the Bronze, tired, a little sweaty from dancing, but in good spirits. Faith holds Buffy’s jacket in one hand, waiting until they’re all out the door before she holds it up for Buffy to step into it. Smiling over her shoulder, Buffy slips her arms inside the jacket and shrugs it on.

“You guys sure you don’t want a ride?” Xander asks, as they all walk in the direction of his parked car.

“I think you’re at max capacity,” Faith points out.

“We can make it work if someone sits on someone’s lap,” he says, then raises his brows. “Just remember to take the stake out of your pocket before you sit down. Ouchie.”

Buffy gives him an obligatory smirk. “Thanks, but we’re gonna squeeze in a quick patrol on our way back.”

“What’s Giles say about the extra demonic activity you’ve been seeing?” Willow asks.

“He’s looking into it,” Buffy says, as they arrive at Xander’s car. She crosses her arms, leaning her butt against the trunk. “We’re not sure if it has to do with Adam or just general hellmouthy-ness.”

“Adam’s been lying kind of low,” Tara says. “What’s the point in being a super strong demon hybrid guy if you’re not going to go out and be demonic?”

“Probably working on some nefarious plan he’ll hit us with in a few months,” Xander says with the certainty of someone who’s lived through several apocalypses now. He unlocks the driver’s side door and reaches through, opening the rear door as well. “All right, ladies should we—”

A scream pierces the night. Faith and Buffy immediately break into a run, deeper into the industrial area surrounding the Bronze to the south. Behind them, she can hear the Scoobies give chase to back them up. Someone screams again, and Buffy darts left, into an alley, following the sound.

Faith follows her down the alley. Two vamps are illuminated by a grainy streetlight, a limp woman trapped between them. Buffy goes left, and Faith right, both slowing to a casual walk as they near the trio.

“Isn’t this cozy?” Faith asks rhetorically as they make their way closer. “Except it doesn’t look like the lady was really looking for a threesome tonight.”

One of the vamps pulls his teeth back from the woman’s neck, snarling at her. Blood drips from his mouth onto the front of his neatly pressed button down shirt.

“You got a little something…” Buffy says, pointing to her own shirt helpfully. She waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, never mind. I’m gonna dust you in a sec anyway.”

“Slayer,” the vamp says, his voice garbled slightly by the blood in his mouth. His companion looks up abruptly at that.

“Slayers,” Buffy corrects, emphasizing the “zzz” sound at the end of the word. “Two of us, two of you. I’m loving those odds, but tell you what, you let her go, and we’ll give you a head start.”

The sounds of footfalls and labored breathing greet her ears from behind them, and Buffy glances over her shoulder to see their friends closing in on their position.

“You might wanna listen to her,” Faith says. “We got two witches and an ex demon back there.” She jerks a thumb over her shoulder at the rest of the group.

“I’m just here because everyone else was running,” Anya calls out helpfully. “I’m not participating!”

“Two witches,” Buffy amends.

The second vamp peers past them, adjusting his glasses with one hand. “What about him?” He asks, jerking his head at Xander. “What’s he do?”

All eyes turn to Xander. “Construction,” he says in a threatening tone. “I bury the bodies.”

The vampires exchange glances. “Not really relevant here,” the first one says, and the second nods. “Since we turn to dust and all.”

“Right,” Xander agrees. “Yeah, not a real threat in this case. But get me around a demon, whoooo boy. I’m gonna bury that bad boy under so much concrete. ‘Cept not at one of my job sites because I don’t wanna lose my license.”

The vampires blink in confusion.

“Anyway,” Faith says, trying to get this slaying back on track. “You gonna let the girl go, or do we have to do this the hard way?”

_Bloody Shirt_ holds up his hands. “You take her.”

“Very reasonable,” Faith commends.

_Glasses_ shoves the swooning, barely conscious woman at Buffy. Faith smiles, pulling her stake free from her sleeve.

“Wait,” Glasses all but yelps, “we have information.”

Buffy glances at Faith. She looks skeptical. Buffy’s supporting the victim’s weight, but gently transitions her into Willow and Tara’s hold as they step forward. “Information about what?” She asks.

“The New World Order,” Bloody Shirt says. When they look at him blankly he seems exasperated. “You guys don’t know? This guy’s like the demon messiah.”

Glasses adds, “But we could tell you what he’s planning, if you let us go.”

Shrugging, Buffy re-pockets her stake. “Okay, talk.”

“We have a deal?” Glasses tries to confirm.

Buffy glances back at Willow. “She okay?”

“She should be,” Willow confirms.

“Then we have a deal,” Buffy says impatiently to the vamps. “Talk.”

“He calls himself—” The sound of air hissing past metal whizzes by Buffy’s ear, and the vampire cuts off abruptly. The hilt of a knife protrudes from his throat. He raises trembling hands to it, then all hell breaks loose in the alley.

Two figures rush them from behind, cutting off any hope of escape. They wear torn and dirty clothing, their heads mottled and gray, with stringy hair protruding unevenly from their scalps. Even from here, Buffy can smell the foul odor emanating from them. Two vampires flank them, game faced.

Faith’s stake nails Glasses in the heart a fraction of a second before Buffy’s meets Bloody Shirt. She plucks the knife free from his throat, and they both run, trying to get out ahead of the others.

The group backs toward the side of the alley, cutting off at least one position of attack, Buffy and Faith surging past them.

Right away she notices the four of them are moving as a cohesive unit, which is unusual. She’s never seen it before in fact. Generally, vampires hate demons. They’re like stripes and polka dots or other unmixy things. But here these four are, coming at them like the evil A-Team.

By unspoken agreement, the two slayers zero in on the demons. The gang is more likely to be able to handle two vamps than whatever these ugly dudes are. Newly acquired knife in her belt, Buffy charges at the demon closest to her, leading with a spinning axe kick that connects solidly with its face. As the demon stumbles back, she jumps into a side kick, hitting the vampire beside him and knocking him further away from her friends.

The vamp recovers quickly, keeping his distance until the demon approaches her again. As she ducks a punch aimed toward her face and retaliates with a jab to its chest, Buffy realizes with some dread that the vamp is playing it smart. They won’t take her on together, realizing if just one of them keeps her occupied, the other can get past her.

The demon gasps at the force of her hit, rancid breath hitting her full in the face. Buffy gags, but follows up with an uppercut to the jaw.

This time, the demon just absorbs her hit, getting its hand around her arm and yanking her forward. It delivers a powerful blow to her outstretched arm with its other fist, sending a wave of pain radiating up her arm.

As it lifts its fist to strike again, Buffy shoves forward, using her shoulder to plow into it. They both tumble to the ground, the demon twisting on the way so it lands on top. Up close, the scent coming off this thing is so bad it makes her eyes water. She’s already seeing a really long shower in her future.

Buffy backhands the demon forcefully, making enough space to squeeze her knee between them. She shoves it upward, grasping the front of its shirt and flinging it over her head.

Flipping to her feet, she turns to approach it again, but the demon is faster. It kicks her knee out from under her, and Buffy stumbles, wincing as it grabs the back of her head.

It drags her, and Buffy’s forced to go with the momentum or have her hair pulled out. It yanks her head sidewise, unhinging its jaw and revealing further rows of teeth behind the decaying ones in front.

Reaching back, Buffy grasps its hand with both of hers and ducks under its arm, forcing it to twist to try to maintain its hold on her. Her knee connects with its ribs, and the demon releases her hair with a roar.

From the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of the others. Anya holds the barely conscious woman up, while Xander hefts a piece of plywood and swings wildly at one of the vampires. Willow and Tara have clasped hands, and a rusted trashcan comes flying through the alley, smashing in to the other vamp.

Faith’s holding her own against the other demon, not far from the group.

Buffy’s drifted further from the rest of them than she’d like, and she runs back in that direction, with the demon right behind her.

_“Sensus confundomtor!”_ She hears Tara chant. _“Era ah pleator obscurator!”_ A dense cloud of fog forms around the vampire closest to Xander, and he capitalizes on the confusion, running the jagged end of the plywood at the area where the vamp’s heart should be.

She smiles as she sees it go poof, the fog dissipating with its ashes. With one vamp down, she’s liking their chances more. Turning back to the matter at hand, she greets the demon with a grin. “You guys really need to talk to your boss about a dental plan,” she says, jumping a wild kick aimed at her ankles. “Get a handle on some of that decay.”

The demon spits something back at her, but she can’t understand the language. Shrugging, Buffy punches it in the face. “It’s Adam, right? He’s your demon messiah or whatever?”

That seems to piss her opponent off, and it comes at her with brute force. She uses its momentum against it, pulling the knife free from her belt and slashing at its chest. It cries out, dark blood spraying at her. _Gross,_ she thinks. _And this is a new shirt!_

Buffy stalks after the bleeding demon, intent on finishing the job. As she sinks the knife in again, she hears Willow yell from behind her. “Xander!”

She looks back reflexively, to see the remaining vamp with both hands wrapped around Xander’s throat. Not quite as down for the count as she’d hoped, her demon makes one last ditch effort, hitting her squarely in the stomach so she doubles over.

Buffy stabs again as she stands, more desperately this time, trying to see beyond its shoulder to where her friends are. The demon lets out a last acrid gasp and crumples in front of her, in time for her to watch Faith kick her own demon forcefully away and leap at the vampire on Xander. She drags it off, flinging it across the alley. Stake in hand, she starts after it.

The remaining demon moves for the humans, and Buffy flings the knife toward it, nailing it in the back. It stumbles but doesn’t fall, and as she watches in horror, it approaches Xander, jaw unhinging.

Buffy starts running, but Faith is closer. She stakes the vamp easily, then turns, darting in and shoving Xander out of the way of the demon’s clutches.

Its mouth clamps down on her shoulder, and Faith screams. Buffy’s there in another second, jumping on the demon’s back, grabbing the hilt of the knife and twisting it.

The demon’s teeth pull free of Faith’s shoulder, taking fabric and flesh with them. Furious now, Buffy yanks the knife out and reaches over its shoulder, slitting its neck. As it falls, she drops the knife to the ground with a clatter.

Faith’s fallen to her knees, panting, her hand pressed to her shoulder. Pulling off his own jacket, Xander wads it into a ball and presses it against the gaping wound.

“I got it,” Buffy says, taking over his hold on the jacket. “Get the car.”

They exchange worried glances over Faith’s head. Xander nods. He takes off at a run in the direction of the parked car. Willow takes his place, gripping Faith’s other arm, looking at her injury nervously.

“Move your hand,” Buffy encourages, trying to keep her voice calm. “I got it.”

Faith’s face is already pale. She does as Buffy asks, dropping her bloody hand to her leg. She glances down, her eyes widening in horror.

“It’s okay,” Buffy says, but Faith doesn’t seem to hear her. She’s shaking, still staring at the blood.

“Faith,” Buffy says more forcefully, “look at me.”

Blinking, Faith raises her eyes. She looks confused for a moment, then her face clears.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Buffy says reassuringly, in spite of the fact that she can feel Faith’s blood soaking through Xander’s jacket.

“I don’t feel right,” Faith says in a small voice.

Rubbing her back soothingly, Willow says, “Xander will be right back. We’ll get you to the hospital. Everything’ll be fine; you’ll see.”

Faith shakes her head, beads of sweat breaking out around her hairline. “No hospital.”

Buffy protests, “You need stitches for sure.”

“No,” Faith says again, “something’s not right. It did something to me.”

Over Faith’s shoulder, Willow bites her lip. “We should look at the bite.”

Buffy reluctantly lifts the jacket from Faith’s wound, and a fresh wave of blood seeps free. Faith’s shoulder is torn open, the skin around the wound purple and green.

“That doesn’t look good,” Willow states the obvious.

“Venom,” Faith says from between gritted teeth.

“We need Giles,” Buffy says.

“I saw a payphone around the corner,” Tara volunteers quickly. “I’ll call him, let him know you’re coming.”

Willow glances up in concern, then back at Buffy. “We’ll both go. It’s not safe alone.”

Buffy nods her agreement. Willow squeezes Faith’s hand, then gets to her feet. “If Xander comes,” she says, “go. We’ll meet you at Giles’s place.” She and Tara quickly trot back up the alley.

“B,” Faith says, sounding weak. “It hurts.”

Buffy concentrates for a moment, listening to her pulse. It’s irregular. Faith’s eyes flutter.

“I know,” Buffy says softly, looking desperately toward the top of the alley for Xander.

Behind her, she hears the vampires’ victim coming around groggily, and Anya’s attempts to placate her. She ignores them both, focusing on Faith. “Giles will know what to do,” she says soothingly. “We’ll be on our way there in a second.”

Footfalls pass behind her, and Buffy looks up to find the woman they rescued making her way unsteadily down the alley. Anya kneels on the other side of Faith, not touching her, but looking alarmed at the amount of blood visible on her clothing. “I tried to stop her,” she says, cocking her head toward the woman.

Normally, Buffy would protest, go after the woman and try to get her to let them help her or drop her off at home, but right now, she can’t bring herself to worry about anything other than Faith.

Faith’s started trembling, and Buffy clutches her tighter as if that might help.

From the top of the alley, headlights illuminate their position.

_Finally_ , Buffy thinks as Xander races down the alley toward them. “Ride’s here,” Buffy says, pushing some false cheer into her voice.

Anya takes Faith’s other arm and between the two of them they start to help her up. Midway, Faith’s legs give out. Buffy catches her easily, scooping her up and cradling her against her chest. Her injured shoulder presses into Buffy’s chest and Faith whimpers in pain. “I’m sorry,” Buffy says with a wince, as Xander screeches to a halt in front of them.

“S’fine,” Faith manages through gritted teeth.

Anya darts ahead of them and opens the back door. Putting Faith in first, Buffy closes the door behind her. She and Anya run to the passenger side of the car. Xander has them reversing out of the alley before the doors are even closed.

XXXXX

“Giles!” Buffy calls from the couch, where Faith is slumped in her arms, shivering uncontrollably. “How’s it coming?”

“A-almost finished!” Giles assures her, double-checking the book he’s using before he adds a pinch of something to the bowl in front of him. “Xander, hand me that toadstool.”

“Toadstool,” Xander says, frantically looking through the ingredients strewn across Giles’s desk. “On it.”

Anya comes from the kitchen with a wet cloth. She offers it to Buffy, who flashes her a grateful smile. Taking the cloth, she wipes Faith’s brow gently. Her shoulder’s stopped bleeding for the most part, but the discoloration is spreading away from the wound at a rapid pace. Faith’s injured arm is tucked against her chest, her other hand digging into Buffy’s leg repetitively as she grimaces through the pain. Buffy presses a towel against the wound to staunch the last bit of bleeding.

“Xander,” Giles instructs, mixing in the toadstool, “in the top desk drawer there are scissors. We need to cut Faith’s clothing away from the wound.”

Rifling quickly through the desk, Xander unearths a pair of scissors and comes to the couch. He hovers over the two slayers, looking hesitant.

“Just do it,” Faith says from between gritted teeth.

Nodding, Xander stoops down. Buffy removes the towel from where she’s had it pressed to the bite. Faith inhales sharply at the change in pressure, but keeps still, even as Xander begins cutting away her jacket.

Xander winces through the whole thing, muttering apologies every time he has to adjust the fabric to get the scissors through it. He cuts away some of the sleeve, then snips from the zipper to the shoulder, gently picking at the remains of the fabric and pulling it back from the wound. He starts doing the same to the t-shirt underneath.

Buffy feels completely helpless, having nothing to contribute other than holding Faith and pressing the damp cloth to her clammy skin. “Uhh,” Xander says after a moment, “should I cut this, or…?”

Buffy glances at Faith’s shoulder, her lips pressing into a worried frown as she sees how much further the discoloration has spread. Xander points to the strap of Faith’s bra, which escaped the demon’s teeth, still sitting beside the wound.

“That’s okay,” Buffy says, shifting so she can grasp it, and gently lifting it up and over the wound. She lets the strap droop across Faith’s bicep.

“Ready!” Xander calls back to Giles.

He and Anya step out of the way as Giles lifts the bowl from his desk and comes to join them. He clutches a clean washcloth in his hand.

“Good,” Giles says mildly, but Buffy can see that his face has paled now that he’s got a good look at the bite. “This might sting.”

Faith nods, then turns her face in toward Buffy’s neck. Buffy squeezes her tighter as Giles immerses the cloth in the small bowl. He lifts it, dripping wet, and holds it just above her wound. A gentle squeeze of his hand causes the first few drops to fall against her ruptured skin. Faith stiffens in Buffy’s hold, a low moan breaking free of her clenched teeth.

“You’re doing great,” Buffy says soothingly.

Giles squeezes more of the liquid over the bite, and Buffy can see the cords in Faith’s neck straining as she fights the urge to cry out.

“Very good, Faith,” Giles says encouragingly. “Once more should do it.” He brings the cloth back to the bowl, sopping up the remaining liquid.

Faith’s hand is a claw against Buffy’s thigh, her breathing fast and hard.

“Give her a second,” Buffy says quietly.

Giles frowns, but he waits.

After another few deep breaths, Faith says, “Do it.”

His eyebrows drawn together in sympathy, Giles lifts the cloth to her wound and lightly squeezes the remaining liquid free.

_“Fuck,”_ Faith says, her voice high and tight with agony. Buffy rubs her back comfortingly, wincing at the force of Faith’s fingers pressing into her leg.

“Okay,” Giles says softly, “there. All finished.” He drapes the cloth gently over her wound. “With your healing, it should start feeling better right away, but it’ll probably take a day or two until it’s fully healed.”

“And you’re sure this will work?” Buffy asks anxiously, as Faith pants against her neck, obviously still in a lot of pain.

“This particular anti-venom is effective against about 85% of demons known to inhabit North America, including the Boretz,” he says. “Based on Tara’s description, I’m reasonably certain that’s what you faced tonight. The odor she described is quite uncommon.” He returns to his desk, setting down the bowl and picking up a book. Flipping to the page he’s marked, he shows Buffy the entry for the Boretz demon. 

She nods. “That looks like it.”

“Then Faith will be fine,” Giles says reassuringly. He closes the book, setting it on the coffee table. Perching on the edge of the table himself, he leans in so he’s about eye level with Faith. “Any better?”

Faith says, “Not sure yet.”

“Let’s give it another few minutes,” Giles suggests. As he stands up, the front door opens, and Willow and Tara come in, both looking worried.

“How’s she doing?” Willow asks, closing the door behind Tara.

“Think I’m ready to be in a coma again,” Faith answers, sounding weak.

“Gallows humor,” Buffy says, mustering up a small smile. “That’s my girl.”

“Hey, if you can’t laugh at your own near death by venomous demon, what can you laugh at?” Xander asks, sitting on the arm of the couch behind Buffy. “Did Buffy tell you about the time I got the funny syphilis?”

Faith cracks an eye open, looking speculatively at the first person she sees, which happens to be Anya.

“Not from me,” Anya reports happily. “He got it from a Native American man!”

“Must have missed more than I thought,” Faith says, closing her eye again. She relaxes slightly against Buffy, her breath coming a little easier.

“No offense to the syphilis story,” Buffy says, looking up at Xander with a smile, “but maybe I should take Faith home?” She looks at Giles for confirmation, mentally thanking the universe that her mom’s away on a work trip and won’t see the state that Faith’s in.

“Yes, of course,” he agrees. “I’ll give you a lift.”

XXXXX

The bathroom door creaks open, and Faith shakes herself out of her stupor, stepping under the water. She winces as it hits the still raw bite mark in her shoulder. Her whole body feels exhausted and on the verge of collapse, which Giles assured her was normal for this kind of bite. The anti-venom is helping her body process the toxin, but it’ll take some time. In the meantime, it hurts to rotate her shoulder at all, and she looks with resignation at the shampoo bottle. Cleaning up mostly one handed is going to be fun.

There’s rustling noises from the other side of the shower curtain, and Faith assumes Buffy’s getting ready for bed herself, but then the curtain is pulled slightly open, and Buffy peers in. “Want some company?” She asks lightly. When Faith nods, she steps into the tub and pulls the curtain closed behind her.

Buffy looks at the hideously mottled flesh around the bite, then reaches for the shampoo.

“I can do it,” Faith says halfheartedly, as she picks up the bottle.

“Yeah,” Buffy agrees, “but maybe I like taking care of you.”

There’s really no argument for that, so Faith allows Buffy to step closer and bring her shampoo covered hands to her hair. She gradually relaxes as Buffy’s strong fingers massage her scalp. By the time Buffy’s gently tilting her head back under the water, Faith’s half asleep on her feet, but at least she’s almost forgotten about the throbbing in her shoulder.

She adds conditioner next, then twists Faith’s hair and lays it over her good shoulder. “The blue loofah is yours?” She asks. When Faith nods, she picks it up and adds body wash to it, massaging the loofah until it foams in her hands.

They trade places, Faith taking the loofah and Buffy moving under the spray. Faith absentmindedly washes her neck and torso, most of her attention on watching Buffy.

Hot water sinks into her long hair, pressing it flat to her back. Buffy shampoos it with both hands, her head back and eyes closed, leaving Faith to watch rivulets make their way over her breasts and soft stomach.

Buffy cracks an eye open as she tilts her head back to rinse her hair. “Aren’t you supposed to be soaping?” She teases.

Dutifully, Faith turns her attention back to washing the front of her body, carefully lifting each of her legs so she can reach them with minimal movement in her shoulder.

Once she’s applied conditioner to her hair, Buffy holds her hand out for the loofah. “I’ll do your back,” she offers.

They trade places again. Faith stands under the spray, closing her eyes as Buffy gently scrubs her back. The Tylenol she swallowed on her way into the shower is finally taking a bit of the edge off, and what that doesn’t help, Buffy does. Once the soap is washed away, Buffy presses against her back, her hands on Faith’s hips. She kisses the spot between Faith’s shoulder blades, then lays her cheek there. “I hate seeing you hurt,” she says.

Taking Buffy’s hands, Faith pulls them onto her stomach so Buffy’s fully hugging her. “It’s the job,” she says easily, her eyes closed. “Better it got me than Xander.” She leans back against Buffy, feeling drowsy.

“I’m glad you were there,” Buffy agrees, “but seeing you bleeding like that…”

Faith can hear the tightness in Buffy’s voice, and she can guess what seeing her bleeding called to mind for Buffy. She turns around within Buffy’s arms. “I know,” she says, bringing her hand up to Buffy’s neck. Leaning in, she kisses Buffy lightly. “I’ll be fine,” she says seriously, then adds, “I got you taking care of me.”

Buffy doesn’t quite smile. Her eyes are big, still a little worried. She looks like she wants to say something, but instead she just swallows hard.

“What?” Faith prompts her gently, her thumb stroking Buffy’s cheek.

Hesitating another second, Buffy licks her lips. Then she says, “I love you.”

That wakes Faith up. She instantly stiffens, her eyes widening.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Buffy hurries to add, her hands tightening on Faith’s waist as if she might physically run around out of the shower. “I know you think you’re bad at relationship stuff and maybe you’ll feel like you _should_ say it back to me, but that’s not why I said it.”

Her pulse is pounding in her ears, and Faith feels hot and cold at once. “Why did you say it then?” She asks quietly.

Buffy gives her a tiny smile. “I couldn’t keep holding it in,” she says. “I wanted you to know, but I don’t have to keep saying it. If you want me to wait—”

Faith shakes her head.

“No?”

“You can say it,” Faith says, because some tiny, irrational part of her brain is already trying to convince her that she didn’t hear Buffy say _that_.

“Okay,” Buffy says, “good.” She leans in and kisses Faith’s cheek. “I love you.” Now her nose, her closed eyes. “I love you, Faith.” Buffy presses herself firmly against Faith, her lips against Faith’s ear. “I love you.”

Gripping Buffy tightly with her one mobile arm, Faith swallows around the new fullness in her throat. Buffy _loves_ her. She feels unmoored from her own body, and has to focus her eyes on the tile to stay grounded. _Buffy_ loves her. That doesn’t feel like it can possibly be real, but warm water is still pouring down her back, and the shower walls look as solid as they did a minute ago. They’re home, and she still feels dead on her feet as her body tries to expel all of the Boretz’s venom, and everything’s just as it was a moment ago.

But everything’s different, too. Because Buffy said love, and if there’s one person in the entire world that Faith thinks she can trust not to lie to her, it’s Buffy. It’s Buffy, now running her hands through Faith’s hair, working the conditioner out, and looking at her with soft eyes. Just like she looked at her the night they dreamt together, the shower floor red with blood beneath their feet. Like she always does, now that Faith really thinks about it.

Buffy is scratching her scalp soothingly as she rinses Faith’s hair. She hasn’t taken the time to finish washing herself off, just focused on getting Faith cleaned up, keeping her shoulder as still and painless as possible.

Faith’s face crumples a little, and Buffy looks concerned. “What?” She asks. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Faith says, staring at her. She doesn’t know how to explain how she feels. Buffy’s never known what it’s like to feel like no one loves her. To be a kid looking for any scrap of love and not find it anywhere. To need something so badly, the way you do food or warmth, and have no way to get it. And then to have it presented to you, so suddenly and unexpectedly, and how that shocks your system completely. Faith’s eyes burn, and she’s not sure if she’s crying or not because everything’s wet anyway.

Buffy’s beginning to look more worried. Her slippery hands come down to Faith’s face, touching her cheeks. “Faith?”

Finally, Faith opens her mouth and words tumble out, in a voice that doesn’t sound entirely her own. “I love you, too.”

The worried line of Buffy’s mouth slowly transforms into a hopeful smile. “Yeah?”

It doesn’t feel like she can say anything else around this lump in her throat, so Faith just nods.

Her eyes shining and happy, Buffy goes back to ensuring all the conditioner is washed from Faith’s hair.

Faith closes her eyes, letting herself slip into autopilot. They switch places so Buffy can rinse her own hair, and Faith stands close to her, hands on Buffy’s hips, definitely in her way as she quickly soaps up and rinses off her body. Buffy doesn’t seem to mind. When she’s clean, they stand under the water, wrapped up together, for another few minutes before Buffy turns off the faucet. She pulls open the curtain and grabs a towel for each of them.

Making sure the valve on the faucet is set back to bath rather than shower, Faith climbs out. They dry off together, Buffy doing a lot of the work as Faith tries to rest her shoulder. Then they walk across the hall to Faith’s room. Buffy brushes first her hair then Faith’s, careful fingers combing out the knots acquired from slaying.

When they’re under the blankets, legs entwined, Buffy says, “You’re pretty quiet. Just tired?”

“Tired,” Faith agrees, “but I guess I’m also processing.”

Buffy runs her fingers through Faith’s hair gently. “Processing?”

“Yeah,” Faith says. The motion of Buffy’s hand is starting to make her sleepy, but she shakes herself fully awake, not wanting to fall asleep just yet even though her body is exhausted.

“Wanna tell me about it?” Buffy prompts.

Faith hesitates a second, then she nods. “I was thinking that… my whole life, I never felt like I really belonged anywhere. My dad wasn’t around. My mom was there, but she wasn’t _really_ there. My grandma tried, but after she died, it was just me.” She looks down, finding it easier to talk if she’s not looking directly at Buffy. “Even with friends, I’d make them, but it never stuck. I switched schools a bunch of times, was in and out of foster care and group homes.” She glances up, feeling a little embarrassed. “I just wanted someone to love, you know?”

Nodding slightly, Buffy keeps stroking her hair, giving her more space to talk if she wants to.

Now that she’s started, it’s a little easier to keep going. “And I guess I wanted it to be you,” Faith says, “before. When I first came to town. I know that sounds crazy now, after everything, but I did.”

“It doesn’t sound crazy,” Buffy says gently.

“What I’m trying to say,” Faith says, feeling self-conscious about how much she’s rambling, “is that I feel like I belong here now, with you. Like I finally know what it’s like, having someone to love. Having someone love me.” She risks meeting Buffy’s eyes finally. “And I’m happy it’s you.”

“Me too,” Buffy says. She doesn’t quite smile, but her eyes are soft and warm. “Thank you for telling me.”

Faith shrugs, feeling a little exposed.

“You can tell me anything, you know?” Buffy adds earnestly. “I want to know everything about you. Even the not good stuff.”

Her words soothe a little of the discomfort Faith’s feeling. She nods, letting Buffy know she hears her. When Buffy seems to be looking at her expectantly, Faith asks, “You want to know everything right now? Because I was kind of planning to pass out in a second here.”

Buffy laughs and shakes her head. “No, you can sleep. I was just thinking.”

“What?” Faith asks.

A tiny smile lifting the corner of her mouth, Buffy says, “You’re kind of amazing.”

Squinting at her, Faith shakes her head.

“No,” Buffy says, “you are. It must have been really lonely and hard for you, growing up. Having to do everything for yourself.”

Shrugging, Faith brushes that off. “Yeah, well, I got by. Not like I was the only kid like that.”

“Doesn’t make it any less hard,” Buffy says, then kisses her before she can protest any further. “You should go to sleep. If I bring you to Giles tomorrow looking even worse, he’s gonna get cranky.”

“Thanks, B,” Faith says sarcastically. “ _Even_ worse?”

“You know what I mean,” Buffy says, rolling her eyes. “Gorgeous, but with a festering demon bite. Is that better?”

Faith says, “Little bit,” as she lets her eyes drift closed. Beside her, she hears the covers rustling as Buffy gets herself settled. She falls asleep almost instantly, all her energy going toward healing the wound in her shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two chapters left after this. :) Nearing the end of this behemoth. Thank you for reading. Comments and thoughts always appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](https://aliceinwondrbra.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/aliceinwondrbra).


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